


Ripples on a Hellmouth

by stuffandnonsense



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: BAMF Women, Community: seasonal_spuffy, F/M, Female Friendship, Multi, Post-Canon, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 05, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 07, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-08-25 14:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 48,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16662521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffandnonsense/pseuds/stuffandnonsense
Summary: It's 2023, and an epic war is underway between good and evil. This time around, good is losing. But Willow's found a way to turn the tides by sending Buffy back into her past. The catch? She can't change anything directly. Will Buffy choose wisely and save the world, maybe even herself? Or just make everything worse?





	1. Zero

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to [Zabjade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabjade/pseuds/zabjade), who read early drafts and fed my muse cookies whenever the story was fighting me, which was often. It is now complete, and will be posted twice weekly.

“I'm tempted to take up time travel, but I'm not sure there's any future in it.” – _Willow to Buffy, spring 2011_

 

It was warmer, inside the tent, but only barely. There was a hell of a wind – or possibly a wind from hell? Whatever it was, it felt like needles wherever it touched bare skin and it made every single one of her bones ache just like they were being shattered all over again. Buffy stood in the entryway as her eyes adjusted to the lower light, scythe held out in front of her, just in case. She was so very, very tired of this war.

“General Summers,” Willow’s voice whispered out of the murk at the back of the tent, with the same sort of intonation you’d expect to hear when someone said ‘General Barbie’.

“Willow,” Buffy grunted, already exhausted by that much conversation.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see Willow sitting in a camp chair at the back of the tent. Or at least, Buffy hoped it was her eyes adjusting. It could just as easily be Willow dispersing shadows she’d magicked around herself as camouflage. She wasn’t evil, but she didn’t much bother with playing normal these days.

Willow braced herself to stand up. She was wearing that ooky cloak again. Buffy had long suspected it had a mind of its own, and the fact that its movements were in completely the wrong direction to be caused by the gust of wind she’d just let in did nothing to change her mind.

As Willow stood, Buffy sniggered. Nice to know that even at her dark and veiniest, Willow still couldn’t get up out of a camp chair gracefully.

“I have a proposition for you,” she said, miraculously not reacting to the laughter.

“Does it involve a duel to the death?” Buffy asked breezily. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure we’ve tried that already. A couple times.”

“I’m tired of fighting,” Willow said wistfully.

“You and me both.”

“I’ve finally found a way to end it.”

Buffy blinked once slowly. “And by ‘end it’, do you mean me? You?” She waved a hand in the general direction of outside. “All that?”

“It was never supposed to be this way.”

She still sounded wistful; it pissed Buffy off. “That’s hardly my fault.”

Willow pulled out a bowl from inside her Cloak of DoomTM. Then she put it on the floor between them and spat into it. Not only did her spit hit the exact centre of the bowl and make a deep pinging noise that was probably all full of magical whojamawhatsit, but it also somehow filled the whole thing up with something that might have been liquid and might have been smoke or maybe some kind of combination of the two. Then it swirled, whatever it was.

“Well that’s just all kinds of disturbing,” Buffy muttered, unconsciously worrying her fingers around the bump in her left shoulder where a small, flat stone lay beneath her skin.

Willow looked up from the bowl, her face taking on that annoying smirk that was now her neutral face. “You have seven days to change the world,” she said.

“Uhhh, okay. Is that, like, the notice period for this month’s wacky spell?”

Willow shook her head, smirk slipping away. “I’ve been looking into the future. It doesn’t go well.”

“Well, duh.” Buffy mentally slapped herself. She always seemed to end up channelling her inner valley girl around Willow. Must be something to do with her being the only one left who remembered Sunnydale. “In what universe was this ever going to go well?”

Willow shrugged. “I found a few where it did. But something else was always wrong with them.” She shuddered. “Like, you and Giles being married and living in Vegas.”

“Bleurgh!” Buffy’s whole face scrunched up in disgust, despite herself.

Willow held her hand out above the bowl and waved it around a few times. It started swirling a little faster. “I’m going to send you back for seven days so you can fix it.”

Buffy laughed. “You’ve picked out some random week that’s supposed to erase all of this? Yeah right.”

“Seven separate days.” Willow rolled her eyes. “Why anyone still follows you into battle….”

Buffy sighed. “Pretend like I haven’t done all the same research you have – oh, wait, no need to pretend because I actually haven't! Just tell me what it is you think you can strong-arm me into.”

“Now, now, Buffy. Would I force you into anything?” Then she batted her eyelashes.

“Bitch.”

Willow giggled. “You say the sweetest things. But you’ll do it once I explain. I’ve found a spell that’ll let you – and only you – go back in time. Seven times, from waking to sleeping. Whenever you want. And you’ll be able to do-over whatever you want.”

“How will that help?” Buffy asked. “I mean, we tried the time travelling gig, what, fifteen years ago?”

“Twelve.”

“Whatever. And it barely changed a thing!”

“It wasn’t you,” Willow said simply, “and that limited how much we could change. Guess that one-girl-in-all-the-world mojo is pretty powerful stuff: almost nothing is fixed in your timeline, unlike the rest of us mere mortals.”

“Since when have you been a mere mortal?”

“I was back then,” Willow said scathingly.

“Is this whole no-fixed-timeline shebang something you know for sure? Or just one of those nifty things you think is true without actually checking?”

Willow shrugged. “I give it six months before we’re sucked into a hell dimension. Tops. Do you really care if this is a long shot?”

“Why should I trust you on any of this?”

“It’s not like I can hurt you anymore.”

Buffy laughed. “You sure can’t hurt me any more than you already have.”

Willow pouted. Actual pouting. “I never wanted to end the world,” she whined.

“Summer of 2001 ring any bells?”

“It was 2002, and I tried to fix that twelve years ago! Tried to make it so you never had to be brought back. I still want that.”

“‘Brought back’? Is that how we’re referring to ripping me out of heaven these days?”

“Will you never let that go? It’s been over twenty years!”

“I’m thinking no. Particularly since it comes with a side of ‘I can’t die’ so I won’t ever go back!” Buffy could finally say that without crying. It had taken her a very long time and she was rewarding herself by bringing it up with Willow every single opportunity she got. Petty, but oh-so-satisfying.

“Well, if you can, those’d be good things to change.”

“Again with the duh! What kind of idiot do you think I am?”

“You don’t really want me to answer that question, do you?”

“No entering and/or leaving heaven, check. Bonus points for avoiding world-icidal Willow.”

“Have you forgotten about stopping the war?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “And no activating every potential all at once. Plus I promise to eat all my veggies. Any more pearls of wisdom you wanna lay on me?”

“There’s not a lot of point in changing anything after 2003,” Willow said drily, pulling her hands out of her cloak again. She held what looked like seven seeds, dark brown and roughly half the size of Buffy’s thumb. “Here,” she said, holding them out to Buffy. “Once you decide when you want to go, concentrate hard and drop one into the bowl.”

“That’s it?” Buffy said, shoving the seeds into her pockets. “You haven’t worked out in exhaustive detail just what I’m supposed to do to stop all this?”

Willow shrugged. “I did that last time and it didn’t work. And whenever you come up with a plan in advance, you just second-guess yourself into a panic attack. You do your best work on instinct.”

“Gee, thanks, Dr Phil.”

Willow gestured towards the world outside the tent. “If you hadn’t spent so much time agonising over every little thing, a lot more people would be alive right now.”

“How dare you blame me for this?” Buffy had gone shrill.

Willow cocked her head to one side. “I think you blame yourself enough for both of us. I find guilt’s overrated, personally.”

Buffy only just restrained herself from punching stupid Willow in her stupid face. But they’d burned that t-shirt years ago and it sure hadn’t made any difference then. All they had left to hurt each other with was words. “If Tara could hear you now….”

Willow smiled crookedly, looking almost like the red-haired, morally upstanding girl she’d once been. “Make it so she can, Buffy. Go on, I dare you.”

Glaring venomously at her, Buffy concentrated hard and went to hurl her first seed into the bowl.

“Wait!” Willow shouted.

Buffy froze, arm raised above her head.

“Your amulet,” Willow said expectantly. “You need to take it off or my magic won’t work on you.”

Buffy’s stomach lurched. “Is that what this is really about? Some trick to leave me unprotected from your spells again?”

Willow shook her head. “I don’t want to go to hell. I’ve seen it and I’m scared.”

Buffy stared at her uncertainly. Willow had been able to lie with her eyes as easily as falling off a log for years now. Almost as long since the last time she’d admitted to being scared. But Buffy couldn’t imagine Willow holding back the vitriol as long as she had unless she really, really meant it.

Sighing, Buffy laid her scythe down on the floor in front of her and pulled a knife out of the sheath strapped to her calf. She rolled up her sleeve and exposed the flat stone buried in her shoulder. Then she proceeded to dig it out.

“That’s just unhygienic,” Willow said, face screwing up in distaste. “Where has that knife even been?”

Buffy shrugged. “Not like the infection’ll kill me.” The stone fell out with a wet plop, and she tried to use her shirtsleeve to staunch the considerable amount of blood now flowing from the wound – it wasn’t enough. “You wanna,” she gestured vaguely at the mess with her chin, “you know, be useful?”

Willow rolled her eyes and muttered an incantation Buffy couldn’t quite catch. The blood stopped flowing, though.

“So do I need to worry about other Buffies running around when I land?”

“You’re welcome,” Willow said, clearly annoyed. 

Buffy gave her an I-would-rather-die-than-say-thank-you look.

“No time twins,” Willow snarled through clenched teeth. “You’ll be … possessing yourself is probably the easiest way to think about it.”

“Ooh, possession!” Buffy grimaced. “Again. Super-fun.”

Willow’s glare darkened. “Do you want to hear this, or just figure it out as you screw up?”

Buffy could feel the level of power in the tent go up a notch; her ears even popped. “Fine. Tell me.”

“Past-you won’t be able to get at your thoughts, but she’ll keep the memories of what you’ve said and done from the day. Like remembering a movie.”

“Will she know it wasn’t her?”

Willow shrugged. “You’re pretty good at denial. I figure she’ll just rationalise it away.”

“You pay the _best_ compliments. What about me? What will I remember?”

Willow made a face. “It took me a couple weeks before the new-old memories caught up with my brain; coming back could be a little disconcerting.”

“So I do come back here between trips?”

“Can you think of another way to get at those seeds in your pocket?”

Buffy counted to ten in her head; it kept her fists at her sides. “What about after? You can remember both pasts, right?”

Willow nodded. “The original past is fuzzier than it used to be – more like a half-remembered dream, now. But it took years to get that way.”

“Will you remember?”

“I’m not sure,” Willow said slowly. “No one did when I went back.” Then she shrugged. “But I was the only one working the spell, so….”

“Right,” Buffy said. She raised her arm again, then stopped, looking over at Willow. “What went wrong? When you went back before, I mean.”

Willow frowned in concentration. “I think we went at it too directly,” she said cautiously. “Like, the first time I went back, we killed this snake-demon-guy so he wouldn’t be able to get Dawn’s blood flowing. But then that one minion just did everything the demon had anyway. Maybe if I’d changed something completely unrelated, it would have made room for a different ending.”

Buffy nodded. “Butterfly theory, check. I’ll be all oblique-girl.”

“Oh, and Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“The trip ends as soon as you lose consciousness, so don’t get knocked out or fall asleep before you’re ready to leave.”

Buffy nodded. “Guess I better go save the world then, huh?”

She threw a seed in the bowl.


	2. 1997

“I was going to tell a joke about time travel, but you didn’t think it was funny.” – _Jesse to Xander, winter 1997_

 

Willow had neglected to mention the nausea associated with trips into the past. Buffy only just made it to the bathroom in time to avoid blowing her cookies all over the carpet.

“Buffy?” Her mother’s voice called out from the hallway. “Are you alright, honey?”

“Fine, Mom!” Buffy croaked back, more weakly than she’d like.

Joyce poked her head in, frowning. “You don’t have anorexia, do you?”

Buffy raised her head blearily. “You’re thinking of bulimia, and world of no. Ew.”

“Well, I suppose it could just be first-day jitters.” Joyce stepped the rest of the way in and touched the back of her hand to Buffy’s forehead. “I’m sure you’ll be fine after a little breakfast.”

That set Buffy off again, and any hopes she’d had of a meaningful reunion with her dead mother were well and truly dashed. She was running so late by the time she stopped vomiting that Joyce practically threw her into the clothes past-her had laid out the night before – hello, criminally short skirt! – before driving her to school. All through the drive, Joyce was rolling out every bit of advice she’d ever come across on how to help your child (for which read six-year-old) feel less nervous about their first day of school. Buffy smiled and nodded while praying to every power she could think of that her mother wouldn’t circle back around towards eating disorders and more appointments with Dr Wallace.

 

-∞-

 

Oh dear god, Willow and Xander were so young! And what’s-his-face, who Xander ended up staking as a vampire … she’d forgotten all about him. And Giles! If Buffy squinted really, really hard, she could almost see the alternate dimension where she might’ve been interested. But maybe that was just because she was now about the same age he’d been then. She was sure she remembered him being much, much older the last time she’d lived through this.

Giles eagerly thumped the _Vampyr_ book down on the table in front of her, making her jump. Then sneeze. No one had asked her to read dusty old books in a very long time; Buffy’d almost forgotten how much she hated them. She’d definitely forgotten how much he loved them.

“That’s just what I was looking for,” Buffy said, forcing a smile only her mother would believe. And 1997-vintage Giles, apparently.

He bounced around like an overexcited puppy and Buffy wished she’d picked any time but this one, when Giles’ eyes burned with the fire of the true believer. “Into every generation a slayer is born. One girl, in all the world, a Chosen One. One born with the—”

“Yeesh, can you quote that whole book verbatim?”

Giles laughed nervously. “Well, of course, you know all about that already, don’t you? You’ve slain vampires before.”

Buffy laughed. Then stopped. And now Giles was looking at her like she was crazy. Plastering on yet another wide, bright smile, Buffy said, “Look, I heard this place was some kinda hot spot for mystical stuff, hence me being here and all.”

Giles’ face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. Then there was babble. From _Giles_. Mystical energy, incubi, succubi, werewolves, zombies, and, of course, vampires. Lots and lots of vampires. And something special and evil happening very, very soon!

Buffy had to bite her lips to near-bleeding to keep from interrupting with the right answer while she listened to Giles try to work it all out in front of her. It was like some weird parody of her school experience: a teacher who didn’t even know the test questions, let alone the answers, while she knew everything. Giles finally ran out of steam, though, and when he obliquely mentioned slayer dreams, Buffy was able to take him up on a ‘nightmare’ cue and oh-so-tentatively stammer out the H-word.

After way too long forcing herself back into the mindset of a sixteen-year-old with barely a year’s slaying experience, Buffy was able to get him away from the research he would do as soon as she left, and onto the subject of training. It began with Giles asking whether she could sense it when a vampire was nearby. Buffy nearly wept with joy. It had taken her the best part of ten years to do that reliably, and she was hoping she might halve that if she just swallowed her pride and asked for help. As luck would have it, it turned out to be Giles’ greatest wish to teach her how to sense vampires. He even had three different musty old books on the subject, all highly rare and valuable.

That was why she’d come back here, to this time. As soon as Willow said direct wouldn’t work, Buffy knew this was what she wanted to change. Training up potentials in Sunnydale had proved how well the Council training programme worked for them – and quite how much it had never worked for her. It’d taken her a long time after that, and a lot of help from her sister slayers, but after the best part of thirty years fighting the good fight, Buffy had designed a training regimen that really worked, not just for her, but for any slayer. It was designed to build control instead of strength, to get a basic grasp of as many fighting styles and weapons as possible instead of mastering one or two, and included a healthy dose of mindfulness and meditation to keep the death wish away. It was practical, interesting, and most importantly, it kept slayers alive longer. Buffy wanted it for her younger self.

She missed out completely on seeing her mother between getting home from school and going out again, but she’d laid the foundations with Giles on how to train her. To Buffy’s surprise, it also laid a foundation between them for what interested her and what didn’t: no books, but videos and conversation were okay. She made a brief mental apology to Merrick for lying quite so much about her time with him, but she was pretty sure Giles wouldn’t be making notes quite so excitedly if she’d said it was all her idea. He even seemed to respect her for the insights she admitted to, like learning new fighting styles from her watcher instead of her enemies, and how frustrated Buffy was with her tendency to telegraph every single movement she made with her shoulders. Admittedly, that hadn’t been a problem for a long time now, but if Giles could cure it any quicker, more power to him.

Buffy felt confident their conversation would be enough to make the changes stick. She’d been totally freaked out and alienated by the books and fight theory Giles had pressed on her the first time around. By diverting him towards more practical training, past-her might actually enjoy learning.

 

-∞-

 

Running into Angel on her way to the Bronze was a shock. Buffy had a stake poking into his chest before she even realised who it was. In her defence, he did look different: she was pretty sure that cut-glass jawline hadn’t been seen for at least twenty years. Did something happen to vampires when they hit two-seventy-five? But the biggest shock was how different everything was from her memories. She totally remembered that cross necklace as a super-romantic first-date gift … not a ‘Hey, stranger-lady. I’m a totally safe vampire, who’s definitely not stalking you by the way, but I won’t tell you my name. And lookee here, I bought this nifty cross for you and I’d like for you to wear it now.’ Buffy was so thrown, she didn’t really react to the rest of what he said to her. Not that it really mattered – it wasn’t like she didn’t already know it was Harvest time.

 

-∞-

 

As soon as she walked into the Bronze, all Buffy could feel was vampire. She had a very odd conversation with Willow about seizing the day in case you were dead tomorrow. That really wasn’t a philosophy she got behind these days, what with being immortal and all. Yet there she’d been, going on and on about how short life was, while mostly she was thinking about how stupid everyone was acting, throwing themselves around to long-haired idiots playing your standard late-90s music, completely unaware of the danger surrounding them. What a waste. Maybe ‘seize the day’ wasn’t such a bad philosophy after all….

Except for how Willow was now dancing with a vampire. Buffy grabbed her away from him within seconds, claiming a desperate need for a bathroom buddy. On their way, she felt a twinge of old and powerful and saw what’s-his-face talking to Darla. After a whispered conversation with Willow to remind her of his name, Buffy shouted out “Jesse!” He looked very annoyed at the interruption. So did Darla, always a bonus. Buffy garbled out something awkward about needing protection in all those dark and lonely passageways to get to the bathroom, and Willow, shockingly, backed her to the hilt. Complaining bitterly all the way, what’s-his-face walked with them and promised to wait outside until they were done.

“Okay, now spill,” Willow whispered, as soon as the door shut behind them. “That was _not_ about avoiding bathroom line boredom and you don’t strike me as the kind of girl who’s afraid to walk dark corridors alone.”

Buffy shrugged. “Um, well, it’s kind of a long story, but….”

Willow’s hands were on her hips. There was resolve face. Buffy felt her eyes tearing up just seeing her like that again.

“Wow, Buffy, are you okay?”

Clearly not just tearing but actual crying.

“I’m fine,” Buffy said throatily, endlessly grateful for waterproof mascara. Then she had an idea. “The bathroom buddies thing was real. Honest! But that girl that, um—”

“Jesse.”

“Right. That girl he was with?”

Willow nodded.

“I, um, I know her and she’s kinda awful.”

Willow nodded more rapidly in sudden understanding. “Jesse’s got a thing for mean girls. He’s been in love with Cordelia since forever.”

Buffy smiled weakly. “Look, Will, seeing as how Xander’s not here and, um, Jethro there has a fatal attraction to the dark side, d’you think you could maybe convince him to call it a night?”

Willow nodded. “I could get a headache and ask him to walk me home. He won’t say no to puppy-dog eyes.”

Buffy smiled gratefully. Maybe Willow and Xander’s friend dying was one of those fixed points she couldn’t change, but she could at least stop it from happening tonight. She remembered them commemorating his birthday over the years, and it felt good to think she might be able to save him.

“Thanks, Will.” Buffy squeezed her arm gratefully.

Willow and what’s-his-face left – what’s-his-face looking downright murderous – and Buffy slipped back into the crowd to find Darla. If Buffy could take her out tonight, it might make things easier for everyone down the line. And since Darla wasn’t that great a fighter; it would be a believable achievement for past-her.

But of course, Darla was nowhere to be seen. Or felt. And then Buffy ran smack into Xander – ow! – who was carrying an honest-to-god skateboard. Since when had he skated?

“You’re leaving already?” he asked.

“Well, it’s kinda dead in there,” Buffy said.

Xander looked disappointed. “I guess Sunnydale’s pretty tame compared with LA, huh?”

“Oh, no!” Buffy said, cringing with embarrassment. “That’s totally not what I meant.” Even if true. “Just, um, Willow wasn’t feeling great and your, um, your other friend took her home, and I don’t really know anyone else here, so….”

Xander immediately brightened. “Well, c’mon little lady.” He was trying to sound like a cowboy. It really wasn’t working. “I’ll take you for a turn around the old dance floor!”

Buffy stifled a giggle. She’d forgotten goofy Xander. She looked around and couldn’t see or sense anything. She had absolutely no idea where that mausoleum was. Sunnydale Memorial? Or maybe that tiny Catholic one on the hill? “Yeah, sure, why not?”

They went back in and straight onto the dance floor, where Buffy, at least, was dancing. She wasn’t entirely sure about Xander. But it wasn’t long before she felt vampire again. So she smiled winningly at her dance partner and motioned that she needed to go to the bathroom. Buffy really hoped Willow and Xander never compared notes on how often she had to pee.

She walked the corridors around the edges of the club. Had it always been this dark and creepy? There was still no sign of Darla, but…. Aha! There was the fashion disaster that had wanted to eat Willow. And he’d found someone new to snack on. As Buffy followed them outside, she realised she should probably trail them all the way back to the mausoleum instead of dusting him straight away. Maybe even take out that big hulking idiot who’d nearly killed her and – _oh!_ Buffy suddenly remembered it was Angel’s cross that had saved her from him the first time around. So their meet-cute had always been that lacking in cute. Buffy was sadly disappointed in her younger self.

Vampire Boy and New Girl – Holly Something? Or maybe Denise. She definitely went to Sunnydale, whoever she was – had just turned the corner ahead of her, when Buffy felt a hand on her shoulder. She grabbed the hand, and flipped the body over her shoulder and onto the floor.

“Ow,” Xander gasped out hoarsely. “Okay, I get it, no touchy without asky.”

“Sorry!” Buffy said, wincing. He must have followed her. She looked ahead, trying to see the couple, then back at Xander. “Look, I’m really sorry, but I need to go after that guy.”

Xander sat up gingerly. “Oh, well, hey, I hope he’s not a vampire. ‘Cause then you’d have to slay him.”

Buffy blinked. “Uh, yeah, pretty much.” Then she ran off.

 

-∞-

 

Buffy just caught sight of Vampire Boy ducking into a familiar-looking mausoleum and ran after him. Quiet Haven it was, then. “Well, this is nice,” she quipped, stepping into the gloom.

Lisa Hamm! Not Denise or Holly but Lisa Hamm! Buffy was proud of herself for keeping all that in her head instead of blurting it out. Lisa Hamm was huddled in a corner. Right next to what’s-his-face. Buffy felt heartsick; she had so hoped she’d be able to change something tangible. The two vampires stopped their quiet conversation and turned towards her, shocked.

Buffy put her hands on her hips and looked around. “A little bare, but a dash of paint, a few throw pillows – call it home.”

“Who the hell are you?” Darla snarled.

Then Xander stepped into the mausoleum. “Whoa, Buffy? _Jesse_? What’s going on in here?”

“Xander!” Buffy said, exasperated. The idiot had followed her again. “You shouldn’t be here!” Although it was humbling how much he cared – they’d only just met, after all, and he’d spent most of their time together staring at her breasts.

Jesse wavered on his feet, bleeding faintly from the neck. “Can we bail now?”

Vampire Boy tried to rush Buffy, and caught a stake to the heart for his pains. She grinned winsomely at Darla, then back at the three shocked people. “Hey there, Lisa,” she said warmly and only faintly self-congratulatory. Lisa stared back at her blankly. Buffy sighed. “C’mon guys!” She clapped her hands. “Time to get out of here.”

Lisa Hamm pulled what’s-his-face to his feet and ran for Xander and the door. Buffy could only hope that the three of them would actually escape this time. She had better vampires to fry. “Oh, Darla,” Buffy said, grinning only slightly maniacally, “one of my greatest regrets is not staking you when I had the chance.”

Darla frowned. “Do you know me?”

“Let’s say I know your family.”

Darla was just as bad a fighter as Buffy remembered, which was good, because she wasn’t used to her current body and Darla was the same size as her, which meant she needed to be accurate. Buffy’s flexibility wasn’t quite where it needed to be for her kicks to land right, and her muscles didn’t have anywhere near the memory her brain did. So what should have been short and quippy ended up being drawn-out and frustrating. But unlike the first time she’d lived this, by the time the giant vampire showed up and hauled her off Darla by the neck, Buffy’d already kicked out Darla’s right knee. Even for a vampire, that would take time to heal.

Buffy sat up gingerly, shaking her head to stop the ringing. She hated being thrown at walls. Especially stone ones.

“You were supposed to be bringing an offering for the Master,” the massive vampire snarled at Darla. “We’re almost at Harvest and you dally with this child?”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

Darla was cringing on the floor, unable to stand. “We had someone. But _she_ came and … she killed Thomas, Luke. She’s strong.”

“You go. I’ll see if I can handle the little girl.”

Buffy watched Darla curl into the shadows, hiding herself. She was definitely too injured to double back out of the mausoleum and kill what’s-his-face again. Maybe Buffy’d really managed to save him.

As Luke lumbered towards her, Buffy popped up and kicked him in the face. She felt the snap connect; it was a move she’d broken necks with before. But he just shrugged it off. Buffy groaned. She’d forgotten quite how many power ups she’d had since 1997. She really was at her weakest right now.

“You’re strong,” he said contemptuously, then slammed her into the floor again. “I’m stronger.”

“Ow!” Buffy shouted. “That’s no way to treat a lady, y’know.” Annoyed to have lost the opportunity to kill Darla, and furious at how magnificent her performance was _not_ , Buffy changed tacks.

The incredulous hulk was a lazy fighter, all grab and throw with no finesse at all. When he ripped off the stone cover of a tomb and threw it at her, Buffy jumped on top of it, tucking her stake under her arm, and hurled her body into his mid-section, stake first. Then she flipped him over and onto his back, hard. She’d missed the heart, but it still had to hurt, right?

Luke just laughed. “You think you can hurt me? Hurt us?”

Buffy pointed at the stake sticking out of his chest, and the way in which Luke was very definitely not getting up off the floor. “Looks like I already have.” Future-Willow had been right about not taking the direct approach. Everything was so much harder to change up close! But Buffy’d done what she’d set out to do, which was more than Willow ever managed. So there.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” Luke growled, grabbing hold of the stake with both hands and crumbling it to dust. Then he picked up what looked like a piece of broken tomb and hurled it at her head.

Buffy gasped out “Oh, shi—” and then everything went black.


	3. One

“The best thing about lending out your time machine is that you always get it back straight away.” – _Tara to Oz, spring 2000_

 

Slamming back into her real body was agonising enough to drive Buffy to her knees. But pain meant she hadn’t died through her own stupidity, which was very much of the good. Plus, unexpected bonus: there didn’t seem to be any nausea time-travelling in this direction. Eyes still shut and adjusting to a body that seemed to have gone five rounds with a Chirago demon since she’d been in it last, Buffy suddenly felt herself being lifted off the ground and slammed into something hard and rocky.

“Ow!” She opened her eyes slowly. Well, one eye; the other was swollen shut. “Willow?” she called out tentatively.

Because there she was, standing on the ground about fifteen feet below Buffy, eyes all black and soulless and glaring, hair and dress billowing around her like she had her very own portable wind machine. Her arms screamed look!-I-stole-these-from-a-dragon-ask-me-how, and were stretched up in a pose straight out of a comic book cover. They were also very effectively pinning Buffy to the ceiling with magical force. It looked like Willow had doubled down on the darkness while Buffy’d been in the past.

“Wait,” Buffy gasped. The wheeze and tickle alongside the unbearable pain of breathing told her she had at least one fractured rib. Joy. “Where’d the tent go?”

“Useless bitch!” Willow growled at her, something in her voice resonating low enough it made Buffy’s back teeth ache. “We’re a month away from being sucked into a hell dimension and you haven’t even saved him.”

“Uh, him-who?”

Willow dropped her arms and the wind died abruptly, leaving Buffy to plummet to the ground. It was just as hard and rocky as the ceiling. “Ow,” Buffy whimpered feebly.

“You haven’t saved Oz,” Willow said dully.

That made no sense. He died months ago on the other side of the world, helping one of the last enclaves of non-combatants move to a safe location. Oz had also been happily married to a Tibetan werewolf for the last twenty years, and as far as Buffy knew, Willow got a ‘hey’ for Hanukkah from them in a good year.

More to herself than Buffy, Willow muttered, “Something’s changed since last time….”

“I’ll give you a ‘ya-huh’ and raise it a ‘boy, howdy’.” Buffy staggered to her feet and looked around. The bowl from before was still on the ground, but her scythe was gone. That probably wasn’t a good thing. The cave, while definitely not a tent, was just your basic cave: rock and dust and dirt and not a lot else. But through its mouth, Buffy could see a sky that looked suspiciously like an impending apocalypse. That definitely hadn’t been there before. “When we last talked, you gave it six months before hell,” Buffy said. “And also,” she gestured at the demon-arms, “those are brand spanking new and even more disturbing.”

For years, Giles had said that Willow was opening herself up to darkness, but Buffy just kept laughing at him because when push came to shove, Willow picked the right side. Always. But it looked like he’d been on to something, even if only as a possibility.

Willow glanced down briefly at her monster-girl hands, then back up to Buffy. “I can tell there’s been a change, but nothing more than that.”

“What happened to Oz?”

“Warren shot him.”

Buffy’s mouth dropped open. That was definitely not what she’d expected to hear.

Willow narrowed her eyes. “Who sliced Dawn up on top of the tower?”

“Some scabby minion thing.”

“Shit,” Willow said. That weird wind picked up again, swirling around her.

“Why?”

“Because Doc did it.”

Buffy frowned. “Isn’t that the demon Xander killed, like, seven different ways the same week my mom died?” He’d been so insistent on telling her all the ways he’d made sure Doc was dead. It was odd enough to be memorable, but Buffy’d never really had the time or the inclination to find out why at the time.

“Did the idiot you knew as Willow go back in time?”

Buffy frowned again. “Uh, yeah? We were talking about it just before I threw that seed in the bowl.”

Now Willow frowned. “Seed?”

Buffy put her hands in her pockets, and pulled out six definitely-not-seeds. “Willow, are these human finger bones?” She was proud of herself for how calmly and evenly she’d asked the question, all while shoving them back into her pocket so she didn’t have to keep touching them.

“I was wrong. You’ve changed something way more significant than I even thought was possible. This might actually work!” Willow grinned, but it wasn’t so much sunshine and puppies as the kind of grin that meant slow torture for said puppies in a prelude to serial-killer-dom.

“Willow!” Buffy snapped, begging her brain to ignore ‘this might actually work’ and the fact that, when she grinned, some of her former bestie’s teeth looked like they’d been intentionally filed into points. “Are these human finger bones?”

“Of course they are!” Willow snapped. “And why with the caring all of a sudden? You didn’t before.”

“I doubt that.”

She laughed nastily. “Wait ‘til you start remembering yourself.”

“What happened to us?” Buffy asked, voice small and uncertain. “When I left, we were … we weren’t exactly friends, but we were something to each other.”

Willow raised one eyebrow. “This is one of the longest conversations we’ve had since I resurrected you.”

For a split second, Buffy thought she might have seen a flicker of regret in Willow’s black eyes, but it vanished before she could be sure. “And?” Buffy asked, sure there had to be more to the story than that.

Willow shrugged. “You couldn’t forget that I ripped you out of heaven.”

Buffy winced.

“Every time you looked at me, you said, all you saw was what you lost.”

“Willow….”

“Of course,” she grinned suddenly, in a way that made Buffy wish she still had a protective amulet buried under her skin. “Then I made Warren immortal … blah, blah, hell dimension full of torture, blah. You told me to let him out, and I said ‘no’, only neither of us was anywhere near that polite. So then you said you’d let me live for Xander and Jesse’s sakes, but that if you ever saw me again, you’d slay me.” Willow shrugged. “Aside from that time you cut off both my arms with your super-scythe, avoidance has been a pretty successful strategy.”

“Why did you come to me?”

“Oh, Buffy,” Willow burst into a fit of giggles, “you really have changed the world, haven’t you?”

Buffy’s heart sank. From the malevolent glee pouring off of Willow, she knew she was going to absolutely hate whatever she heard next. “What did I do?”

“You’re immortal,” Willow said, black eyes still dancing with mirth.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Did you know you stopped wanting to live?”

Buffy shrugged awkwardly. “It’s a slayer thing.”

“Not like you’ve been doing it,” Willow said joyfully. She pointed to the mouth of the cave. It still looked like the Northern Lights were doing the jitterbug with a violent summer storm. “You finally picked a fight you could lose, only it’s gonna take all the little peons you’re supposed to be protecting right along with you.”

Buffy stared down at her boots. They were neither stylish nor particularly functional. That was even worse than the lack of scythe. “Well,” she said shortly. “That’s embarrassing.”

Willow smiled at her fondly. “I’ve so enjoyed this little chat. You don’t usually do much except grunt and fail to kill me at our reunions.”

Buffy faux-smiled back. “At least some things haven’t changed.” She paused. “So does this mean what’s-his-face survived?”

“What’s-his-face?”

“You said I let you live for Xander and—”

“You stopped Jesse from dying?” Willow’s eyes widened. “When?”

“My first ever week in Sunnydale.” Willow seemed to completely lose interest as soon as the words left her mouth; Buffy was afraid to ask why. “You and Xander always missed him. I thought maybe if he hadn’t died….”

“Eh,” Willow said, sounding almost bored. “You didn’t buy him that much time. I wouldn’t be too proud of yourself.”

Buffy rubbed at her functioning eye. “So everyone’s still dead, then?”

“Yup.” Willow laughed again. “There’s no way in hell you’d be talking to me otherwise.” She paused. “Pun intended.”

“Hang on,” Buffy said, “if you weren’t around, who did the spell to activate all the potentials?”

“Oh,” Willow said scathingly. “You mean the one Giles’ pet coven let loose, making you immortal and eventually causing all this?”

“You’re never going to let go of this being my fault, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Guess I’ll have to change it then,” Buffy said stoically.

Willow snorted. “You’ve lost us five months against the end of the world, and it’s your fault it’s happening in the first place. Remind me how you’re helping again?”

“I’ve done better than you!” Buffy snapped. “You went back a whole bunch of times trying to stop me from dying and you never managed to change anything.”

“Like I said, that version of me was an idiot,” Willow said nonchalantly. “No matter how powerful I am, I can’t change fate. You can. That’s the only reason I’m willing to trust a suicidal burn-out like you with something as important as this.”

Now that Willow mentioned it, Buffy could feel the familiar weight of depression settling around her more and more heavily the longer she stayed in this reality. Her life was bleak and awful here, and the hopelessness was seeping into her bones.

“It wasn’t this bad, before,” Buffy said dully. “ _I_ wasn’t this bad.” But in her heart of hearts, she couldn’t swear there was anything other than her general’s duties keeping it that way.

“That’s not my fault either,” Willow snapped. “You were perky as all get-out once you had thousands of girls all over the world fighting your battles for you.”

“That was your stupid idea!”

“Not in this timeline!”

Buffy cried out in frustration.

“Aw, there’s the non-verbal Buffy I know and hate.”

“Who did I lose, Willow?”

“You lost everyone. Or don’t you remember that part?”

“Dammit!” Buffy shouted. Couldn’t she have saved just one person whose name she could remember? “But that happened in my time, too. What pushed me over the edge? There had to be something.”

Willow shrugged. “How should I know? You made everyone promise not to keep in touch after you kicked me out of Sunnydale.”

“I can’t believe that would’ve stopped Xander.”

“You really are a different Buffy,” Willow said, visibly surprised. “I can’t tell you much. They were always very careful about respecting your privacy.”

“They?”

Willow grinned. “Of course – you don’t know Jesse, do you? I think I’ll let you find about that on your own.”

“Fine,” Buffy snapped. “But you’ve still been in my head. It was a long time ago, but you know me. If you want this to work, you gotta give me something.”

Willow sighed, seeming to draw her humanity back around her like a cloak. Buffy even thought she could see a glimmer of colour in her eyes.

“All I know is that I haven’t seen you at a funeral for a long time.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Buffy said fiercely. “I would give anything to—”

“You ran away. Just like you ran to LA when you were sixteen, and Rome a few years later. You’ll come back to save the world, but not for anyone or anything else. You forgive,” Willow laughed. “God, you won’t shut up about how much you forgive. But you just keep closing yourself off, running further and further away.” The blackness faded completely from Willow’s eyes, leaving their original hazel. “You need to learn to live in the world. Not just to save it.”

With effort, Buffy dredged up a sneer instead of bursting into tears. “Hurtful as that was, it wasn’t so much with the helpful. I can’t fix that in seven days.”

“Six, now. And you asked.” Willow shrugged. “No one ever said anything about going back in time to fix you. You’re just here to save the world.”

Buffy had spent so much of her life worrying about being too hard, too ‘other’ to be capable of love. Had she only made herself harder by embracing slaying earlier? Had she gone about all of this completely wrong? Buffy stared down at her useless, ugly boots. Changing anything for the better suddenly seemed impossible. What was the point, even? “Did I ever ask you to—”

“Ask me to kill you?” Willow smiled malevolently, eyes going black again. “I’ve wondered a few times who’d win in a real fight, but you’ve never said ‘pretty please’.”

Buffy nodded, still staring at her feet. “If I can’t change things, would you?” It felt unreal, just saying the words, but Buffy could feel the overpowering desire to be done filling her to bursting.

Willow’s face twisted with hate. “Don’t you dare run away from this!” she snarled. “I’ve made myself into a big, predatory fish in this little pond of ours, and I won’t ever be a minnow again. I’d beg Warren on my knees to go back before even thinking about you. But you’re the only one who might be able to stop it.”

“One girl in all the world,” Buffy muttered. Grimacing, she put one hand into her pocket and pulled out a bone, touching it as little as possible. “I just throw it in the bowl, right?”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Still can’t listen to save your life, can you?”

Buffy threw the bone in the bowl.


	4. 1998

“The past, the present and the future walk into a bar. It was tense.” – _Drusilla to Spike, spring 1998_

 

Scared by Willow and herself and the repercussions of her last trip into the past, Buffy picked a day when nothing happened. It was the morning after she and Angel/us had been possessed and lived out a 1950s murder-suicide, so school would be shut until the exterminators confirmed all the snakes and other creepy-crawlies had disappeared along with the ghosts. Her mother was on a buying trip, not due back until later in the week, and the Scoobies were giving her some much needed space to get over her Angel-trauma. The first time around, Buffy had wallowed in her misery, eaten an obscene amount of ice cream, and caught up on all the _Law and Order_ she’d recorded but hadn’t watched yet. She had not seen or spoken to a single person that day.

All that made it the perfect opportunity to break into the school, hide Jenny Calendar’s re-ensouling notes somewhere Willow couldn’t immediately find them, and smash Giles’ paperweight-cum-orb-thingy. If Buffy could just prevent Willow from giving Angel back his soul, it might be enough to keep her from embracing her inner Big Bad quite so loudly and proudly. Or at least that was the theory. Giles always claimed it was what started her down that path.

When Buffy jolted awake in the past, both eyes were swollen near-shut from a night of too much crying and not enough sleep. Not being able to see made her frantic trip to worship the porcelain god even more fun than last time. When she finally felt able to leave the bathroom, Buffy went through her closet for clothing that wasn’t overly revealing and/or painfully late-nineties. She eventually gave that search up as futile, settling on a pair of skin-tight grey slacks and a plain white blouse and wishing desperately for the more sensible stuff past-her would start buying in a few years. She did get to complete the outfit with a truly beautiful pair of black knee-high boots that would die a sad death via acidic demon-spit in about a year’s time. Probably. Maybe she’d be able to save them without destroying the future….

Buffy couldn’t risk going into the school until after the exterminators were gone. To be totally safe, that meant dinnertime or later. Thanks to a minor Benjamin Bratt obsession, she’d seen the Briscoe and Curtis episodes way too many times now to want to watch them again, so she spent the day trawling through her house, looking for anything that might clue her in to what had changed since last year. Having nothing but the memories of her ‘old’ past was getting, well, old.

The erasure of Dawn was a sucker punch that kept on giving. On her last trip back, Buffy’d spent so little time at home she’d been able to ignore it. Now? The obvious things, like a junk room instead of a bedroom, weren’t too bad. But the loss of the notches on the kitchen doorway that showed Dawn’s freakish growth spurts? That hurt. And Buffy nearly cried when she couldn’t find a single box of that cereal all sane people loathed but Dawn could happily survive on for a whole weekend, even in the absence of milk.

The communal living spaces and her mother’s bedroom had no new stories to tell – they’d changed so much between 1998 and falling into the crater Buffy couldn’t trust her memory to pick out even the most glaring differences. It was a relief, really. The old stories were evocative enough on their own.

She investigated her bedroom last. All her slayer gear was there, which at least confirmed a non-change. Maybe her mom and Giles would still move the weapons downstairs while she was in LA, something her mother later described as a peace offering to show she accepted that part of Buffy’s life.

To her delight, the first non-Dawn-related changes Buffy found were the set of throwing knives she’d coveted in senior year tucked under her mattress, along with a notebook full of crude stick-figure fight positions and comments in her own writing. Buffy immediately started walking through the positions, as much as she could in the cramped space of her bedroom. She’d originally learned a lot of the moves much later than this – after Sunnydale, even. She was still nowhere near her real skills, but past-her was a better fighter than she used to be. Buffy got lost in the poses for a long time, testing out how her body was both different and the same as the one she was used to.

A grumbly stomach finally pulled her away from the notebook, and after she’d made and eaten lunch, she went back to her bedroom to go through the photos. She’d known that her shoebox full of mementos and the special photos tucked into the edges of her mirror were going to give her the most information. It was why she’d left them until last. The first shock was how often what’s-his-face appeared – no, not what’s-his-face, _Jesse!_ His name finally seemed to be sticking in her memory. But, double surprise, Amy Madison showed up almost as often. Clearly she’d been at least as much a Scooby as Cordelia.

The other big change was that Willow had fallen out of love with Xander sometime last year. There was this one photo Buffy specifically remembered from before. It was a group shot from just after finals when Willow was looking at Xander with such naked longing it hurt to see. Buffy had cut it up into little pieces when it came back from the drugstore, afraid of what might happen if either one of them found it. But there was that same exact photo tucked into the top left of her mirror, only now Willow was making a face and it was just a goofy picture of her friends. Although Buffy couldn’t say why, she was absolutely, one hundred percent sure it meant Willow was over her crush.

Buffy finally hit group dynamic pay dirt with a collection of photos of the gang in an otherwise empty Bronze that had to have been the set-up from her aborted seventeenth birthday party. It looked like the party had still been Oz and Willow’s first date – probably the reason for all the pictures. And Xander and Cordelia were noticeably absent for about ten shots in the middle. So far so little change. But she could tell from these, in a way she hadn’t been able to tell from the others, that the core group definitely included Jesse and Amy. Amy must have been hanging out with them ever since they rescued her from her mother. It also looked like Jesse and Amy were an established couple. Maybe that had started back then, too.

Buffy felt confident assuming her friendship with Willow was just as strong as it had been in their original past: there were photos indicating time spent with just the two of them together, and nothing similar with anyone else. Buffy was sure there used to be pictures of just her and Xander, but they’d mostly been taken by Willow. It was impossible to tell whether their absence was just because there were more people around, or because something had changed about their relationship. It was so weird looking at a year’s worth of friendship that included two people Buffy only vaguely remembered. She tried to imagine how Jesse and Amy being in the group had sown the seeds that eventually sent Willow over the edge into evil, and Buffy into suicidal depression. Because it had to be them. It was the only big thing Buffy had changed. But she couldn’t find the answers in the smiling faces of her friends. They just looked happy.

 

-∞-

 

It was still a good forty minutes before sane vampires would feel safe moving around outside when Buffy risked leaving her house. Everything went disgustingly easily once she reached the school. That one door that never used to lock quite right still didn’t. The bright yellow floppy disk was exactly where Buffy remembered finding it last time around in the computer classroom. When she went to Giles’ office in the library, there was the orb, front and centre and doing its job as a paperweight. She put it in the plastic bag she’d brought with her and slung the bag against the wall as hard as she could until the orb was in itty-bitty pieces. Dumping the bag in the trash, Buffy considered destroying the disk too, but was wary of what might happen if Angel came back from hell all feral and soulless. So she grabbed a sharpie, wrote ‘to re-ensoul Angelus’ on the disk where the label ought to have been, and shoved it into one of Giles’ desk drawers. She had to hope he wasn’t quite as obsessively organised with his drawers as he was with his books, or he’d just find it tomorrow morning.

Buffy walked out of the school the same way she’d come, everything she’d set out to do done and it was only just full dark. She briefly considered taking some of her mom’s sleeping pills and calling it a day, but after way too many hours spent cooped up in her house, she was desperate to move. She decided to do a full patrol. What could possibly go wrong?

 

-∞-

 

Buffy had finished a half-circuit of the cemeteries and was on the last leg of the docks when she sensed an old, familiar vampire lurking out of sight somewhere between the two warehouses to her immediate left. She wasn’t sure how she felt about running into Spike in this time. For all his insistence that there’d been something between them at first sight, he belonged to Drusilla in the here and now. And past-her belonged to Angel, to be brutally honest. But it was still Spike, and despite her better judgement, Buffy let her fight with a group of vaguely-competent vampires go on a little longer than she might otherwise have done. She definitely wasn’t showing off, though. Definitely. As she dusted the last one, she heard the echo of approaching footsteps.

“Hallo, love,” he said, emerging from the shadows. He cupped his fingers around a cigarette to light it, briefly illuminating his face.

“Spike,” Buffy said. She was careful to keep her voice neutral while she drank her fill of looking, greedily quenching a years-old thirst. His skin was smooth and unburned now, but she could tell he wasn’t all-the-way better. There was a tightness around his mouth and eyes that screamed pain, and his steps weren’t as sure as they should be. He was putting up a good front, though. If she hadn’t spent the best part of a year helping him recover from various brinks of death, she would have believed Spike was all healed up.

“What, no threats?” he asked suspiciously. “Expected you to go straight for the violence.”

Buffy shrugged. “I’m all out of breath.” She wasn’t, not in the slightest.

Spike grinned.

“Maybe I’ll stake you tomorrow,” she added, mock-seriously.

Now he laughed. “Quaking in my boots, here.”

Buffy grinned back, relaxing. She could do this. They could talk. It would be fine.

“Should thank you, really,” he said. “Watchin’ your ex try to scour love off’f his skin’s the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks.” He grinned. “Whatever did you do to him?”

Buffy winced. “Much as I’d like to take the credit for messing with his head … we were possessed by ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Spike didn’t look like he believed her.

Buffy gave him the Cliff’s Notes version – honestly, she couldn’t remember much more than that anymore. Less than a minute into the story, he’d sat down on one of those mushroom-shaped things they tied the boats to. Buffy suspected it was because he didn’t have the strength to stand. Still, he laughed so hard he nearly fell off when she told him Angelus had played the lovelorn teacher’s part, full of forgiveness for her own murder by her broken-hearted student ex. It was weird. Buffy would never in a million years have called Spike serious, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen him full-out belly laugh before.

“Angel forgave me,” Buffy said, more for past-her to remember than anything else. “It wasn’t really us, but … I could feel it, could feel Angel somewhere letting me know that whatever I needed to do, it was okay.”

Spike became near-hysterical at that point. Watching him, Buffy found herself laughing too, not at the subject matter so much as just enjoying the moment. She had enough distance from it now that it didn’t hurt, although she’d certainly been devastated enough the first time around.

When they’d run out of things to say about ghosts and had moved onto the awkward silence part of the conversation, Spike lit another cigarette and asked, “So’s this a truce, then?”

Buffy smiled and nodded. “Guess so.”

Spike tilted his head and just stared at her for a few seconds. “Who with? You aren’t the Slayer.”

Buffy froze. She couldn’t very well tell him – for one, past-her would remember the conversation, and for two, he wouldn’t believe her anyway.

“Slayer’s very serious ‘bout Angelus,” he mused. “Can’t believe she’d sit down with me and have a giggle ‘bout him so soon after he drained her poor gypsy friend.”

Buffy’s knuckles went white where she clenched the stake in her hands.

“None of this,” he gestured between them, “pleasant chitchat, neither, ‘less she’s throwin’ punches. An’ you were fighting all wrong back there – smooth on moves she’s never made an’ bolloxin’ the basics right up.”

“Shit,” Buffy breathed. She’d forgotten he’d been videotaping her this year, studying how she fought for months. Of course he’d notice the difference! More loudly, she said, “Just trying something new.” She gave her best valley girl smile. “And I can be nice.”

Spike snorted in disbelief. “Not to me.” He stood up and stalked closer to her, not-so-surreptitiously testing out her scent.

In blind panic, Buffy punched him. Spike went down like a ton of bricks.

“Hardly convincin’ to hit me _now_ ,” he drawled, confidence completely unaffected by his new position sprawled out on the ground. He sat up, slowly, gingerly. “Thought we had a truce.”

Despite the bravado, it was odd to see him holding back. He should’ve bounced straight up again and punched back. In less than a month he’d come to her with his proposal for a truce. Would he be strong enough to control Drusilla by then?

“I am the Slayer,” Buffy said, quietly, itching to yell at him to take better care of himself.

Spike shrugged. “Not Buffy Summers, then.”

“Oh, I’m definitely her,” Buffy said wryly. “Warts and all.”

Spike lurched to his feet, unable to stop himself from swaying slightly once he got there. She forced herself to put her stake back into her coat pocket; otherwise she might do something she couldn’t deny later, like reach out to steady him.

“Fine,” he snapped, “don’t tell me then.” He turned his back on her and began walking back the way he’d come. “See if I care.”

Buffy had already taken two steps forward before she caught herself. And she had to bite down hard on her tongue to stop herself from calling him back. What could she possibly say?

Ice cream and _Law and Order_ suddenly seemed far more attractive than they had that morning.

 

-∞-

 

Her mother’s car was back in the drive when Buffy got home. It wasn’t really late, but it was definitely past curfew. Every light was blazing downstairs, so climbing back in through her bedroom window was not going to cut it.

Buffy unlocked the front door and stepped into the hallway. She expected Joyce to lay straight into her on the importance of a good night’s sleep, voice heavy with disappointment at her irresponsibility for breaking the rules when she thought she’d be home alone. Much as Buffy dreaded the confrontation, her mother’s worry and fear and love was something she particularly craved after meeting a Spike who looked at her like a fascinating specimen instead of his everything.

But there was no lecture, just light snores coming from the living room. That’s when Buffy remembered. Her mother’s relatively benign post-divorce habit of a bottle of wine with dinner most nights had stopped entirely while Ted was feeding her a steady dose of happy pills. But after his ‘death’, Joyce started drinking more. Not every night. But her desperation for normal had intensified about a thousand percent after Buffy’d been arrested, and her bright, fixed denial of anything out of the ordinary needed a certain amount of lubrication to work. Joyce’s decision to finally accept the abnormal while stone cold sober was another change that wasn’t due until her daughter ran away to LA.

Buffy watched her mother sleep for a while, hoping she might wake up. When it became clear Joyce was well and truly out for the count, Buffy removed her shoes and put a blanket over her. Past-her could deal with the fallout in the morning. Buffy went to bed and waited for sleep to take her back to the future.

Just as she was beginning to give up on ever dropping off, she thought she saw the glowing ember of a cigarette by the tree outside. Afraid it was wishful thinking, she shut her eyes even tighter and turned away from the window. Hope that he was out there made it possible to fall asleep.


	5. Two

“Time travel is totally possible. You just have to get through Chuck Norris first.” – _Fred to Wesley, spring 2005_

 

Buffy could recognise the pattern of time travel now: nausea going backwards, pain going forwards, like a rollercoaster that just slammed into a wall at the end. Having braced for impact on re-entry this time, she managed to stay on her feet. She opened her eyes hesitantly, relief coursing through her when she recognised the tent and the wind and the bowl and the complete absence of apocalyptic light show. Then she noticed the biggest difference.

“Where’s Willow?”

Wesley Wyndham-Price blinked up at her owlishly. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, in worn jeans and an ancient leather jacket over a faded blue t-shirt. His face was haggard and his hair was iron grey. “I take it I wasn’t here when you left?” His voice was raspy and hard: probably the result of the scar running across his throat, old but still starkly visible.

“Willow’s supposed to be doing this spell,” Buffy said firmly. “Why are you here?”

Wesley just stared at her blankly. “Who?”

Buffy’s legs gave out beneath her. She barely noticed the fall. “I killed her.”

“Literally?”

Wesley asked like it was no big thing for her to have killed someone. That was worrying. “As good as,” Buffy said slowly. “I took her power away. Left her defenceless.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words were solemn enough, but there was little feeling behind them.

Buffy laughed, more nerves than mirth.

Wesley raised a single eyebrow.

“Sorry, it’s just … you were dead, before.”

“Ah.”

He didn’t look worried by that. Weird. “Angel went after some inter-dimensional mega-evil back in 2004.” Buffy continued, searching Wesley’s face for some kind of emotional reaction. “You didn’t make it.”

“2004?” He was finally showing something, even if it was only surprise and mild curiosity. “Angel lost his soul in late 2003; you staked him.”

“No,” Buffy whispered, stomach dropping with a sickening lurch. “There’s a spell, to bring it back.”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

That made the decision really easy about when to go back. Only… “Wait a minute,” Buffy said, holding her hands up, “if there’s no spell, how did Angel get his soul back the first time?”

Wesley was clearly confused now. “You mean when the gypsies cursed him?”

“I mean when he came back from hell in ‘98!”

“I never knew him in Sunnydale,” Wesley said slowly. His eyes went far away for a moment. “He said something once….”

“Which was?” Buffy resisted the urge to shake the story out of him.

“He mentioned having done rather a lot of damage when he ‘came back’ to Sunnydale.”

“Great,” Buffy muttered, too low for Wesley to hear. “As if I didn’t get enough people killed the first time around.”

“I believe there was some sort of intervention led by a demon called … Sickert?” Wesley shook his head. “No, not Sickert. Whatever his name was, Angel said he was the one who’d first led him to you.”

Buffy frowned, trying to catch hold of the right memory. She and Angel had been through so many iterations of ‘was that prophecy or free will?’ over the years, they’d all blended together. But one of those conversations had led to her realising that the useless idiot who’d randomly wasted her time when she was trying to find kidnapped-Giles was the same super-creep who’d promised her tweenage self to Angel as a reward for good behaviour. “I think I might’ve met him once. Did he have a really stupid hat?”

Wesley shrugged. “I never saw him. But I understand he somehow got Angel his soul back, and then they both left for LA, where I met him a year later.”

“Wow,” Buffy breathed. “First time around, Angel got his soul back before he went to hell, and he stayed in Sunnydale the rest of that year.”

“That’s exactly the sort of change I was warned would happen.” Wesley looked fascinated – but still only in an academic sense. “I couldn’t quite imagine what it would be like for most events to remain fixed, with insignificant but potentially dramatic changes around the edges. That was an excellent example.”

“It’s hardly insignificant if you’re one of the unlucky ones Angelus ate when he came back from hell all soulless and crazy,” Buffy snapped. Then her guts turned to ice. Could that be what happened to Willow?

“On a Hellmouth?” Wesley shrugged. “Likely they would have died anyway.”

And there was ruthless Wesley: so long as the outcome is right, the cost doesn’t matter. “I can’t believe how badly I’m screwing this up,” Buffy groaned.

“Angel came back again, if that helps,” Wesley said diffidently, “although I’ve no idea how.” He fingered his scar. “I only heard about it later.”

“Is he alive now?” Buffy asked dully, more out of habit than anything else.

Wesley shook his head. He didn’t look all that sorry about it.

“Willow was the most powerful witch in the world when I left,” Buffy said, willing her heart not to break. She’d been too lost in her own grief over Angel to take in the significance of Willow re-ensouling him all by herself, so young and with no training, but Buffy knew enough now to recognise how awe-inspiring it was. Slayer mojo didn’t even hold a candle to it. Then she’d stolen one of Willow’s greatest achievements, and it had killed her. Buffy’s resolution strengthened to go back to the day Angel came back from hell. She had to make sure he got his soul back before he did any more damage.

“Amy was the magical one, when I knew you,” Wesley said.

“Amy? Seriously?” Clearly, she’d either never turned herself into a rat, or Willow had known how to undo it.

“She was your friend,” Wesley said simply. “And your magical expert. Although I doubt Amy would ever have been able to do something like this.” He pointed to the bowl between them on the floor. It hadn’t changed at all since the first time Buffy’d seen it. “Fascinating that your Willow could.”

“Even more fascinating that you can,” Buffy said snidely. “I don’t remember you ever being any great shakes at the magic.”

Wesley smiled. It looked unnatural against the lines of his face. “I have expanded my magical abilities considerably over the years, but I could never perform a spell like this. This took the power of twenty women, imbued in me.”

“Why you?”

Wesley shrugged. “No one was sure you’d be willing. And I’m expendable.”

“I’m that scary?”

Wesley looked at her consideringly while he took a breath. “Here, yes, you are that scary.”

“Am I evil? Willow was, when I went back before.”

“No,” Wesley said slowly, “not evil. But in the last few years, you’ve been, shall we say, rather protective of your retirement.”

“You’re gonna need to un-vague that a little for me.”

“Everyone you loved died. You were quite explicit that you no longer cared to save a world that would take them away from you. You’ve reacted rather violently towards those who’ve asked for help since.”

“So how did you talk me into doing this?”

“I pointed out that you might be able to save them.” Wesley scrubbed at his face. “Although it appears you’ve been singularly unsuccessful thus far.”

“I saved Jesse. I never even knew him, before”

“Really?” Wesley sounded impressed. “I … well, this might actually work.”

“Why does no one think I can actually fix anything?”

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but whatever reputation you once had for saving the world, you haven’t had it for a long time. Not here.”

“Who the hell’s running my army, then?”

“Roberta Hernandez is the general of _her_ army.” Wesley said pointedly.

“It would be Bobbie.” Buffy gritted her teeth through a powerful wave of resentment. “I was leading the charge, when I left. The first time I came back, all I wanted to do was die. Now, I just seem to want everyone else to. I have no idea what’s changed, Wes. How the hell do I fix this?”

He shrugged helplessly. “You’ll need weeks for your memory to fully catch up with the changes. We’ve barely spoken since I left Sunnydale. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Willow said I couldn’t try to change anything directly, that it just wouldn’t work.”

Wesley nodded. “Changing significant parts of your own timeline is near-impossible, yes. It’s one of the reasons your memories take so long to adjust.”

“I’ve only changed little things! I taught Giles how to train me properly; I saved someone I barely knew. Then I stopped Willow from doing the spell Giles always said opened her up to dark magicks. How has that ruined everything?” Buffy was blinking back tears, now. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone for years and years, and here she was doing it twice in a matter of days. She hated this. Battle planning, she could do. Physical fights, she was absolutely your girl. But fixing the past? She felt entirely unequipped even to know what to change. Particularly without Willow to guide her through it.

“Jesse survived well into adulthood; he had a good life.” Wesley paused. “How long was it until the world ended for you?”

“Six months, then one month.”

“Ten months now,” Wesley said, sounding cautiously pleased. “It’s getting better. You just have to keep going back.”

“Is it still my fault?”

Wesley blanched. “The changes from this spell really are quite something, aren’t they? No. The balance between good and evil was affected when your friends brought you back from heaven and again when the Devon coven activated all of the slayers. If you can stop those two things from happening, you will stop all of this.”

“What if I just make it worse?”

“Your world would still have ended in six months.” Wesley shrugged. “What’s worse, compared to that?”

“Willow said I needed to learn how to live in the world.”

Face utterly impassive, Wesley said, “That sounds like very good advice.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Even for this Wesley, that was too unemotional. “Now is not the time to be polite.”

“By all accounts, you stopped living in the world a long time ago,” he said carefully.

“You’re sure this isn’t my fault?”

“You passed your mantle to Roberta, and the many hundreds of other slayers who pick up the slack. You haven’t been needed for a long time, and when you were, for this spell, you came through.”

Buffy stared down at her boots. They were steel-toed and very practical, the same kind she’d been wearing when she first arrived in the tent. “Is anyone from Sunnydale still alive?”

Wesley pursed his lips. “Not as such, no. Although I believe Harmony Kendall is still undead.”

Buffy gave herself a shake. “No offence, but how the hell did you outlive _anyone_ , let alone everyone?”

“None taken.” Wesley’s lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “Although it is rather disconcerting you not knowing the story, given your part in it.”

“You gonna tell me? I’m going grey here.”

Wesley’s smile broadened. “I was cursed with immortality.”

“Was that my fault?”

“Yes and no. I was trying to save someone I lost. It involved some rather intensive dark magic. You were sent to, er, remind me of the repercussions of going in too deep.”

“Let me guess: magical accident?”

Wesley grimaced. “I failed to rescue Lilah, but I made myself immortal in the process.”

“I’m sorry.”

They shared a moment of understanding. Immortality was never quite what anyone expected it to be.

“One day,” Wesley said quietly, “I’ll find the right dimension again and I’ll get her out.”

“Right,” Buffy replied, more than a little unnerved by the expression on Wesley’s face. He’d finally let his emotions out, and they were the kind that made her want to be as far away as possible from whichever dimension he was going to by the time he got there. “But to do your Orpheus shtick, you need me to save the world.”

“Precisely.”

“Who did you tell me I could save?”

“Dawn,” Wesley said gently. “She was married, had two young children. It was when they died that you retired from the field of battle.”

“That was it?” Buffy asked, hating herself for asking, for even suggesting Dawn’s death wasn’t enough. “I wasn’t … there was no one I—”

“Not that anyone ever told me,” Wesley said. “But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t.”

“Dawn never got married in my time,” Buffy said. “She flamed out evacuating Rome when it fell; couldn’t get herself out.”

Wesley went white. “Rome is … Buffy, Rome never fell. Whatever you’ve done, you’re not just changing _this._ ” Suddenly excited, he pulled out a notebook and started writing furiously. He shoved it across to her. “Look, here’s a list of all the world that’s still in human control. Tell me what’s changed?”

Buffy’s eyes and nose were streaming before she’d even read half of it. “Bobbie’s a better general than I ever was.”

“How many?” Wesley asked, voice tight and desperate.

Buffy swiped at her face with her sleeve, but it didn’t make much difference. “We had strongholds on a few islands we could still defend. We lost every continent.” Buffy was full-out sobbing now. “I never thought I could … never even dared hope we could push them back this far.”

“You’ve done it.” Wesley’s grin was so wide his face looked ready to split in two. “This war, today, we can win this. All you need to do is stop the Old Ones from coming back.”

Wiping at her eyes again and trying to get a hold of herself, Buffy stuck her hand into her pocket and pulled out a finger bone.

“Oh, gross! When Willow did this the first time she had seeds!”

Wesley blinked. “Seeds? Yes, er, I suppose that could also work….”

“Just how evil are you?”

“Fair to middling?” Wesley said hesitantly.

“Be better,” Buffy said seriously. Then she threw the bone into the bowl.


	6. 1998 again

“At school I was voted ‘most likely to travel back in time, class of 2025’.” – _Amy to Jesse, Autumn 1998_

 

Buffy was dimly aware of a gentle hand on her shoulder, pulling her back into wakefulness, and then she was vomiting all over Giles’ shoes.

“Sorry,” she whimpered, scrambling off her chair and onto her knees by the trash can and wishing a hole would open up and swallow her whole.

“Are you quite alright?” Giles asked, sounding mildly terrified to adult-Buffy’s ears.

She, unfortunately, couldn’t answer.

“Ask a stupid question,” Giles muttered, as he gingerly stepped out of his shoes, and went to the filing cabinet that held cleaning supplies and first aid equipment.

She was still being sick once he’d cleaned as much of the mess as possible off of both himself and the floor. “Do you, er, do you need me to do anything?”

“I’ll be fine,” Buffy gasped, “just give me a minute.” Throat still burning, with fuzzy spots behind her eyes, she straightened up and said, “Angel’s – Angelus is back.”

Instead of the shock and fear she’d expected to see, Giles just looked sympathetic and took off his glasses. Then he said, ever so gently, “There’s no record of anyone returning from a demon dimension once the ‘gate’ has closed. I can't imagine how that could happen. Or why. We’re far more likely to be dealing with a werewolf.”

Buffy laughed. Then she threw up again. Giles sat and polished his glasses until she was able to sit up. She gratefully accepted the pack of wet wipes he handed her and cleaned herself up.

“I don’t know all the hows and whys,” Buffy said, voice finally coming through clear and strong. “But I ran into him last night and now he’s chained up in the mansion on Crawford Street.” She gestured to the table full of books past-her had fallen asleep on: _The Mystery of Acathla_ on top. “Do you really think I’d be reading any of that if I didn’t have to?”

 

-∞-

 

Buffy couldn’t help herself. As soon as Willow walked into the room, she hugged her as hard as she dared. “I’ve missed you,” Buffy said, only just managing not to cry again.

Willow pulled back, confused. “Uh, okay. Wasn’t Faith in charge last night?”

“Change of plan,” Buffy said, voice still betraying her emotions.

Before Willow could say anything else, they heard the clang of the cage door, and Oz walked over to them, buttoning up his shirt.

Willow immediately tensed. “Jelly donut?” she asked, proffering her bag in Oz’s direction. She was practically vibrating from too much coffee and had a slightly manic grin on her face.

“Everything okay?” Oz asked, looking across at Buffy, Willow and Giles with what Buffy guessed was Oz-face for I’m-terrified-I’ve-killed-someone. On anyone else it would have looked like placid nonchalance.

“Everything is very much not okay,” Buffy said firmly. “Angelus is back from hell.”

“That was not the bad news I was expecting,” Oz said, deadpan, but his whole body unclenched.

“Me either,” Willow breathed, swaying slightly. “So … I guess it’s him that’s behind all the murd—”

“Oh, no!” Buffy cried, mortified. Of course they were still focused on the evil of the week. It was Oz’s whole life in the balance. “I’m so sorry. _That_ murderer’s Pete.” Buffy paused, desperately trying to remember his last name. “He’s been drinking monster-juice and going into homicidal rages whenever anyone breathes the same air as Debbie Foley.”

Oz and Willow both swivelled to stare at Giles, who shrugged. “I’ve known about Angelus for a grand total of five extra minutes. Er, who are Pete and Debbie?”

Slayer dreams had never been such a welcome part of the package as on that particular morning. They covered a multitude of sins. Buffy wished she’d taken better advantage of them way back when.

“It makes sense,” Oz said, musingly, after Buffy trotted out her semi-plausible dream explanation. “Victim number one. Jeff? He was in jazz band with us. They used to horse around a lot.”

“Like fooling around?” Buffy asked. “Or like a mutual interest in the ponies?”

“I don't think there was any un-dressage,” Oz said. Willow rolled her eyes. “But he hid her music comp book once.”

“We need a Scooby meeting,” Buffy said firmly. “Rally the troops.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Willow said, saluting. Then she moved off towards the door, pulling Oz with her. “C’mon, let’s get rallying.”

Just before they left the library, Oz stopped and turned back towards Buffy. “You’re sure?”

“You’re off the hook,” she said gently.

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Buffy,” Giles said, “just what do you plan to do about Angelus?”

She sighed. “Can we take care of the Pete problem first? Please?”

Giles nodded reluctantly. “He can hardly go anywhere before sundown. But I doubt very much those chains will hold forever.”

Buffy smiled. Or maybe grimaced. She wasn’t quite sure which. “I can practically guarantee you they won’t.”

 

-∞-

 

The troops were considerable: two witches, two slayers (once they’d finally convinced Faith to wake up and come back to school), a werewolf, a watcher, and two young men who’d been sparring together for a couple years – and whoa nelly, didn’t _that_ look good on both of them. Plus Cordelia, who Buffy still thought was pretty useless, no matter how amazing everyone claimed she got later.

It was not the dynamic Buffy had expected. Just having two more people made it feel like a small army, and it was clear they were all used to working together as a team. Buffy got the impression past-her was more confident this time around, sharing the weight of duty just a little bit more. Everyone was making suggestions, and they were good ones.

Well, except for Cordelia’s.

It gutted Buffy that they couldn’t save Debbie. Not from Pete, and not from her belief that she deserved every last horrible thing he did to her. It also came as a shock how human Pete was. In Buffy’s memories, he’d been just another demon. This time, he looked more like a misguided kid with ‘roid rage than anything else. A dead misguided kid, now. When they regrouped in the library at lunch-time, Willow told them what she’d found in Pete’s lab diaries and it only confirmed Buffy’s suspicions. Pete was way more human than demon. She made sure she said that, too, a couple times, so past-her would remember it.

After everyone else left for their classes, Giles pretty much insisted they go and see Angelus. It wasn’t like Buffy would ever use the French….

 

-∞-

 

Halfway to Crawford Street, Buffy realised she didn’t actually know if she’d chained him up last night. But before she could wind herself up into full panic mode, there he was, in all his animalistic glory. It was almost exactly as she remembered from last time: he was manacled to a single heavy chain by the wrists and alternating between trying to attack and curling up into a protective ball. Except he wasn’t Angel this time, and when he raised his head up from his knees, his demon face was front and centre.

“Bugger,” Giles breathed out. “He seems to have lost all sense of self.”

Angelus seemed to perk up suddenly – he lunged towards Giles, snapping and snarling.

Giles and Buffy both jumped back, then moved quickly into another room. Angelus just kept rattling against his chains and snarling after them.

“He’s only been back a few hours,” Buffy said carefully, “he could get better.”

Giles paled slightly. “Angelus back in Sunnydale … after a hundred years of torture. I fail to conceive of any way in which that could be described as ‘better’.” He gave her a hard look. “Why have you left him alive, Buffy? He’s in no fit state to put up a fight.”

Buffy smiled, hoping 1998-Giles believed it as easily as 1997-Giles. “Well, while I was digging around for chains last night, I found this disk….”

 

-∞-

 

Amy and Willow were both thrilled by the contents of the disk. And Buffy finally got to see how they worked together: Willow was deep into the techno-paganism, although definitely still Jewish, while Amy did the more traditional Wicca stuff that Buffy vaguely recognised from when Willow and Tara had lived with her. They seemed to be pretty evenly matched, skills-wise, and it sounded like there’d been a whole magic club going on with Ms Calendar last year.

“So this is good, right?” Xander asked. “I mean, we just curse him again and Angel’s your vampire.”

“It's not that simple,” Giles said. “Ms Calendar’s notes point the way, but the ritual itself requires a rather more advanced knowledge of the black arts than I can claim.”

“We-ell,” Amy said slowly, looking at Willow. “We….”

“We kinda went through her files,” Willow blurted, cheeks flushing with guilt.

“Reading up,” Amy clarified. “We’ve been checking out the black arts.”

“Just for fun!” Willow said, hurriedly. “Or, you know, educational fun.”

Buffy suppressed a laugh at the display of ‘darkness’ from Willow.

“Performing this kind of ritual,” Giles said slowly, “channelling such potent magicks through yourself – it will open a door you may not be able to close.”

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. This was what she’d come back to stop. “Is there a way to make it safer? Like, maybe not channelling all the evil stuff through one person?”

Giles looked thoughtful for a moment. “I believe the original curse was performed by a group….”

Willow looked towards Amy for confirmation, then swivelled around to face Buffy properly. “Amy, me, and Giles could work the incantation, maybe drawing on more people to power it?”

“I’m out,” Cordelia said quickly. “I don’t want to open any doors I can’t close.”

Jesse and Xander looked at each other, then back at Willow. “We trust you, Will,” Xander said.

Giles nodded in her direction.

“Me, too,” Buffy said.

Willow glowed at the praise. It made Buffy’s heart full.

“Why are we even considering this?” Cordelia asked. “You’ve got him chained up, right?”

Buffy nodded.

Jesse, catching on, said, “So why not just stake him?”

Buffy remembered this argument. She’d been so desperately torn between her loyalty to Angel, wanting to save him from himself, and her duty to the world and to her friends. Her friends had felt that tension, and they’d been afraid she’d pick Angel over them and angry with her because of it. But there was none of that edge here. They just seemed to be debating tactics.

“Angelus had a hundred years of torture,” Buffy said, “and he’s pretty much completely feral now. He didn’t put up much of a fight last night when I chained him up, but I’m afraid if I really try to kill him….”

“You’re thinking he’s had a power up,” Xander said knowingly. He shuddered. “Anyone else considering the joys of international travel right now?”

Jesse slapped Xander upside the head. “Yeah, let’s just leave the crazy dude who wants to end the world by himself on a Hellmouth. That’s going to end amazingly well.”

“Sorry,” Xander muttered. “Joke!”

“Why take the risk of letting him live?” Cordelia asked again.

“Why take the risk of trying to kill him if he’s all chained up and ready to be re-ensouled?” Amy countered. “Besides,” she looked at Willow, then smiled hopefully at the rest of the group, “I want to try this.”

Buffy caught Jesse and Amy exchanging a loving look. They seemed so together as a couple.

“Right,” Willow said excitedly. “We’ll need an Orb of Thesulah, whatever that is.”

“My mom had one,” Amy said, embarrassed. “I don’t even want to know why.”

In the privacy of her head, Buffy started swearing. _Of course_ Amy’s mom had one.

“It may not have been for nefarious purposes,” Giles said mildly. He looked down at his feet sheepishly. “I had one as a paperweight for, er, for years.”

“How long will it take you to figure out the spell?” Buffy asked.

Willow and Amy looked at each other, then back at Buffy. “A day, maybe?” Willow said.

Buffy nodded. “Let’s do it.”

The two witches looked equal parts terrified and exhilarated. Buffy just hoped she was doing the right thing. Particularly given the spell would be performed tomorrow – after she’d gone back to the future.

 

-∞-

 

To say that Faith was reluctant to help out would be the understatement of the century. She’d gone out slaying until dawn after Buffy released her from Oz-watching the night before, and had been barely verbal from tired-and-cranky when they dragged her out of bed to deal with the Pete situation. Add to that her extreme aversion to working with vampires … well. Buffy only managed it because of years of looking after Dawn. AKA, there was bribery involved.

“Look,” Buffy said, “I promise you the best night out of your life if you help me do this.”

“I’m listening,” Faith said, crossing her arms over her chest and pushing her lips out into a pout. Buffy was still jealous of that pout – on Faith, it looked all womanly and French and seductive. Whenever Buffy pouted, she just looked like a little kid.

“There’s this club,” Buffy mentally crossed her fingers, “I’ve never been there before, but I hear it’s pretty much demon-only.”

Faith’s expression went leery. “Is this more help-the-demons stuff?”

“World of no,” Buffy said. “But … mostly demon means no one who needs saving. So no interruptions to us having fun.”

This was exactly the argument Spike had used to get her there way back when. Faith looked cautiously interested. It was a heady kind of night off.

“Plus,” Buffy went on, “if we want to clear the place out at the end of the night, we can. Fights are pretty normal in a bar like that, so we won’t need to hide what we’re doing.”

Faith shifted from one foot to another. “Won’t they, like, smell the slayer on us?”

Buffy shrugged. “Who cares? It’ll be a wild night.”

“What’s the music like?” Faith asked, and Buffy knew she had her.

There were more negotiations, like Buffy agreeing to drink real drinks, and let Faith pick her outfit and dictate her makeup, which Buffy made an effort to argue against for believability. But really, she was gutted she wouldn’t get to go. Past-her definitely wouldn’t appreciate it like she would. Was it possible to be jealous of yourself?

 

-∞-

 

An hour before sunset, Cordelia dropped Buffy and Faith off at the mansion with their equipment to set up for the night. Buffy was hoping that, since she hadn’t fed Angelus during the day like last time, he’d be weak enough for the chains to last the night. But she was taking no chances. They had a tranquiliser gun, a crossbow each, and a couple of buckets full of holy water. They’d also brought a whole box of crosses.

Angelus definitely got more alert as the sun went down, but he didn’t seem to be able to do much more than grunt and growl and rattle his chains. It became obvious pretty quickly they couldn’t stay in the same room, though. He just wouldn’t stop trying to get at them. But it seemed to be sight, not smell, that set him off. So Buffy and Faith draped every door and window with crosses, and set themselves up just outside.

By the time it was full dark, they were set. Faith curled up in the nest of pillows and blankets they’d brought and went to sleep almost immediately. She’d insisted they take shifts, since neither of them got more than a couple of hours’ sleep the night before. Buffy worried about leaving the rest of the night to her seventeen-year-old self, but after an hour of listening to Faith’s deep and even breathing, she realised there was no way she could stay awake past ten-thirty, when Faith was due to take over. Her body hadn’t yet learned how to survive on stolen minutes of sleep here and there for days at a time.

Willow had given her homework to do during the night, which Buffy dutifully kept open on her lap in the sure knowledge that past-her would retain no memory of any reading she had or hadn’t done. Instead she listened to Faith’s breathing and Angelus’ grunts and twitches, and she thought about what Willow and Wesley had said, about learning how to live in the world. The Buffy whose body she was currently possessing lived in the world, she was sure of it. It was hard to guess about her relationship with Amy and Jesse, but just being around a couple who so obviously and openly cared about each other had to be all faith-in-humanity-renewing. She was strongly connected to Willow and Xander, was building a connection with Faith. Giles had taken care of her this morning with a gentleness she’d either forgotten or never had in the first place. And he’d done nothing but trust her judgement all day long.

Buffy knew she wasn’t as far gone as the future-hers she’d inhabited so far, but given the limitations of the spell, that could hardly be anything but luck. What had happened to get her to such a bleak place? There’d been years when she hadn’t much cared if she lived or died, sure, but for a good long while after all the potentials were activated, she’d led a fabulous life. Somehow between then and now, she’d become isolated from everyone she cared about, or who cared about her. And then they’d died before she could fix any of it and now all she had left was Willow, if she still had her at all.

 

-∞-

 

The demon with the stupid hat showed up about ten o’clock. “What are you doing here?” he asked, shocked.

“Waiting for you,” Buffy said, poker-faced. She should have expected him, given his part in the carnage that was the Buffy and Angel show the first time around. But she’d be damned if she was going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her surprised.

“Why?”

He sounded like a whiny kid. Looked like it, too, now she was paying more attention. Buffy shrugged. “Well, there’s a Sadie Hawkins coming up, but my boyfriend’s all tied up.” She picked up a stake and tossed it back and forth from one hand to another. “Wanna dance?”

He stared at her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “It wasn't supposed to go down like this.”

“Not here to judge,” Buffy quipped, “but what exactly were you expecting?” She was genuinely curious about that.

“I was expecting to be the cavalry.” Stupid-hat looked around him, clutching some old book even closer to his chest. “I have it on good authority there’s a bloodbath due to be stopped right about now.”

Buffy gave him her best wide-eyed innocent smile, trying not to laugh. “Maybe you got the date wrong. I hear that happens sometimes when guests show up without an invitation.”

“Don’t you want to know who I am?”

“Are you gonna help me?”

He looked towards the door separating them from Angelus and shuffled his feet a little. “Not now, I’m not.”

“Let me guess,” Buffy said brightly. “You’re an immortal demon sent down to even the score between good and evil, only you’re not supposed to ‘interfere’?”

“Wow. Good guess.” He cocked his head to one side. “You know, I’ve got this weird sense of déjà-vu going on here….”

She smiled grimly. “Funny, that.”

“You really are something, kid,” he said, in an aw-shucks-ma’am sort of voice Buffy didn’t trust for a second.

She nodded. “And not just me.” She gestured towards Faith, still fast asleep. “I’ve got my very own cavalry right here beside me. Plus backup somewhere else, ready to put the soul back in.”

“You can’t depend on them,” the demon said, suddenly looking worried. “In the end, you’re always by yourself.”

Buffy laughed. “Haven’t you heard? Friends and family are gonna make me the longest living slayer in history.”

Stupid-hat frowned. Buffy guessed he was put off by her complete and utter failure to act like a sweet, innocent, little girl in need of rescue. But past-her hadn’t needed rescuing for a long time, let alone Buffy as she was now. Her expression turned lethal. “Now scram before I pull out your ribcage and wear it as a hat.”

He scrammed. And Buffy spent a contemplative further half hour before waking Faith. When she curled up in the still-warm blankets for her turn to rest, Buffy fell asleep almost instantly.


	7. Three

“What do we want? Time travel! When do we want it? It's irrelevant!” – _Tara to Willow, spring 2012_

 

The return of Willow was the second thing Buffy noticed, after the pain. “Thank god you’re back,” she rasped gratefully. Embarrassingly, she’d collapsed almost instantly on returning to her body, and now found herself staring up at shiny red hair and a smart-casual outfit that seemed wildly out of place against the white canvas tent and Buffy’s utilitarian combat-wear.

Willow gave her a long, hard look. It was hardly welcoming, but definitely better than slamming Buffy up against the ceiling. Or not being there at all.

“So how long until we all go to hell?” Buffy asked brightly, getting back on her feet. It felt a little warmer than before, and the wind was definitely quieter and the light shining through the canvas was normal daylight, which was all to the good.

“A year.” Willow said, still looking mistrustful.

Buffy laughed. Then she spun around in a circle and let out a whoop of delight.

“What did you change?” Willow asked, shifting around uncomfortably. “I don’t … I can’t tell.”

Buffy didn’t want to tell Willow she was celebrating her return from the dead. Not yet, anyway. “We’re winning the war, aren’t we?” she asked instead, grinning. Buffy put her hand into her pocket: still bones. Her smile faltered a little. However much Willow looked like her younger, kinder, self, there was something else going on underneath. That was when Buffy noticed her scythe was still missing. “Wait, before you answer that, where’s Bobbie?”

“Who?”

“Bobbie. Roberta. Hernandez.”

Willow shook her head. “No idea who that is.” She paused, now looking slightly shell-shocked. “Were we not winning, before?”

“Really not.”

Willow looked surprised. “Huh. I take it you used to be in charge, then?” The barb was familiar, but there was none of the usual passion behind it. At least the other Willows cared enough to hate her.

But the world wasn’t going to end for a whole nother year! Buffy felt almost giddy with joy: this was so far beyond anything she’d dared hope for when she’d first come to this tent three days ago. “Who’s still alive?”

“What do you mean?”

“When we started this whole time travel thing, you and I were the only people left who remembered Sunnydale and the fight against The First Evil.”

Willow frowned. “You mean that ghostly doppelgänger thing that guilted Angel into a suicide attempt in senior year?”

“Uh, that and tried to end the world by destroying the slayer line and opening the Hellmouth. Chaka Khan ring a bell?”

Willow’s eyes widened. “Turok-Han, sure. But that was all the Sisterhood of Jhe.”

“It was The First when I was there.”

“How, though?” Willow asked, clearly stuck. “I mean, non-corporeal, right? There’s a great big seal on the Hellmouth that needs, you know, _stuff_ done to it before it opens. Did it develop telekinesis or something?”

“Not so much.” Buffy got the distinct impression Willow was whipping out apocalypses to compare sizes. “It just had help. Lots of help.”

“It was pretty good at talking people round, I guess,” Willow said dubiously. Then she grinned. Refreshingly, it didn’t look even remotely evil. “This is amazing. You haven’t even gone back to the most important years and you’re already changing things.”

“You still haven’t told me who’s still around from back then. What about Amy Madison?”

“Amy?” Willow made a face. “God, I haven’t even thought about her in years.”

“I saw her, just now. But I never really knew her.”

“You never – okay. Wow.” Willow took a breath. “After she and Jesse split up, Amy wanted a normal life.” She shrugged. “She made a clean break after high school.”

Buffy gaped. She had not expected that. They’d been such a cute couple. “She still alive?”

“I don’t know! I haven’t heard from her in, like, twenty years.” Willow shrugged. “It’s not like every magic practitioner’s been called into all this bullcrap.”

Buffy only just stopped herself from jumping up and down with glee. Then she thought, _Screw it_ , and jumped up and down anyway. When Willow first called her, Buffy could count every potential ally with power left in the world on her fingers and toes and still have all her toes and some of her fingers leftover. This was worth a little jumping up and down.

Willow looked like she couldn’t decide whether to slap her or hug her.

“Who else?” Buffy asked, slightly breathless.

“Nobody important,” Willow said dismissively. “Andrew’s still running his fan-sites. And most of our ex-potentials are still kicking around.”

Buffy’s giddiness faltered, although Andrew and even one of the Sunnydale potentials was a major improvement. “What about Dawn?”

“What about her?”

“Where is she?”

“What, you think she talks to me now?” Willow snapped.

“Everyone was dead, Willow,” Buffy said, slowly and carefully. “It was just you and me when I left.”

“Dawnie’s fine,” Willow said quickly, face suddenly serious. “So are Michael and the twins.”

Buffy’s knees went weak. “T-twins?” She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and carefully. “She never – I mean, Dawn died. Rome fell and….” It hadn’t felt real when Wesley said it – she was still dead after all. But if Dawn was alive … all the things Buffy had wished for her sister were possible again. She’d given up on anything like that so long ago.

“You’re crying,” Willow said slowly, disbelief evident in her voice. “Geez Louise, how bad was it?”

“There was nothing left,” Buffy said quietly. “Just you, me, a couple hundred slayers, a handful of magic practitioners on a good day, and a medium-sized city’s worth of humans we were trying to keep alive.” Her smile hurt, it stretched so wide. “I changed it. Even if I can’t fix anything else, there’s hope now, right?”

“Now that I think about it, it’s kinda weird we went down the time travel route….”

“Is anyone else from Sunnydale still alive?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Willow asked, frustrated. “They evacuated before the real fighting got going.”

“This is not a trick question, and I don’t care about the Lisa Hamms.”

“Who?”

“Just tell me the important people!” Buffy groaned. “You know my memories aren’t adapting.”

Willow’s expression softened. “I’m sorry.”

Buffy just glared impatiently.

Willow took a breath. “I didn’t think to mention Dawn before because she’s mostly been a non-combatant. There’s no one else alive that matters.”

Buffy scrubbed at her face. “Well, I guess that’s the point of this spell, then.”

“You can’t change anything directly,” Willow warned.

“Yeah. You said,” Buffy snapped. “So what are the priorities? We had nothing to lose when you first sent me back.”

“You still died on Glory’s tower. You still came back and all the potentials were activated a year later. Those are the priorities.” Willow frowned. “Even if it seems like overkill to go back in time to fix them now.”

“Where’s my scythe?” Buffy asked.

Willow blinked. “Faith passed _her_ scythe on to Caridad before she died.” Her face scrunched up in confusion, making her look about ten years younger. “You really had it?”

“Yeah,” Buffy snapped. Bobbie taking over her army was annoying, but at least Buffy respected her. Faith? Not so much with the respect back in the fight against The First. Buffy refused to believe she’d changed anything fundamental on her last trip back – clubbing was fun and all, but life-changing it was not. “And just how did Faith get hold of my scythe in the first place?”

“I never thought anyone’s timeline could be this fluid,” Willow muttered, clearly thrown for a major loop. She sat down in the camp chair, at least a little bit more abruptly than she’d intended. It still wasn’t graceful, though. Ha.

“Hit me, Wills. I’ve already been to two futures where I’m useless and/or causing all the problems. What did I screw up to put Faith in charge?”

“You didn’t screw anything up,” Willow said, not particularly kindly. “You just … you let the other slayers take over. Pretty much as soon as I brought Faith back to Sunnydale.”

“No way,” Buffy said. “Faith’s a great lieutenant, but she hates being in charge. Even I knew that way back when.”

Willow smiled crookedly. “Guess the past really is a different country.”

“I can’t believe she beat back the uber-vamps.”

“She didn’t,” Willow said. “Faith went down not long after I activated the potentials. Caridad took the lead from there.”

Buffy grabbed another camp chair and slumped into it. She’d been through a lot with Faith, despite far too many years of mutual and often violent dislike. Losing her had been hard, almost as bad as losing Dawn. And now Buffy’d erased their friendship and, worse, Faith probably never had the chance to make peace with herself.

“Where was I in all this?” Buffy asked.

“I don’t really know.” Willow shrugged apologetically. “General melee, I guess?”

“And Caridad was the hero of the day?” Buffy barely remembered her.

“More like Angel,” Willow said, staring at Buffy like she was extra-specially slow. “You remember. Brought us the magic amulet? Burned everything up and died saving the world?”

Buffy’s stomach dropped. “No,” she whispered, face crumpling while her whole body began to shake. “No.”

“He came back, after!” Willow genuinely had no idea.

“Spike should have closed the Hellmouth,” Buffy whispered. No matter whether she loved him or hated him – and there were still days she felt both – to have _that_ taken away. The first time he’d done something truly good, not for Dru or her or Angel or anyone else, not even himself. She’d robbed him of his redemption and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forgive herself.

“ _Spike_ wore Angel’s amulet in your timeline? How bizarre.” Willow seemed completely unaffected emotionally by this information.

“Did Robin kill him?” Buffy asked dully. She stared down at her hands. They were clenching and unclenching rhythmically in a way she seemed to have no control over, like she was suddenly outside her own body.

“Uh, yeah,” Willow said. “What’s the big deal? You never seemed that bothered before.”

“Never mind,” Buffy said hoarsely. Could she have changed things so much that she’d lost Spike? They’d been so good at hurting each other. Had it driven them apart even earlier in this timeline? No. She couldn’t believe that. Whatever she and Spike were to each other, Buffy would never have been unaffected by his death.

She gave Willow a hard look. “How close were we back then?”

Willow had guilt-face. “We kinda drifted after high school.”

Buffy relaxed a little. This Willow didn’t know her like original-Willow did. She would never have forgotten to mention Dawn. Never would have assumed Buffy didn’t care about Spike, or been so nonchalant about Faith. Buffy suspected evil-Willow would have got it, too, on all three counts. That at least made the decision of when to go back easy. Buffy didn’t want any part of a timeline with this Willow in it.

“Why’d you even bring me back?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“I didn’t,” Willow said, absolutely horrified. “I’d never dream of doing anything so … so wrong.”

It hurt, seeing the indifference, particularly given her use of human bones. For the first time, Buffy felt empathy for her Willow’s choices. If she ever saw her again, maybe she’d stop bitching about losing heaven. Maybe. “Who, then?” Buffy asked.

“Dawn.” There was definite distaste in her voice.

Buffy turned away for a moment, heartsick and breathless.

Willow smoothed down her already perfectly-straight skirt. Then said brusquely, “Tell me what you’ve been changing. You only have four more chances to fix what you need to fix.”

Buffy scrubbed at her face with both hands. She felt numb all over. But it wouldn’t do anyone any good for her to dwell right now. She just had to make sure none of it ever happened. Somehow.

Once Buffy had given her the rundown, Willow slumped back into the chair and stared off into the distance for a good few seconds. She really hadn’t liked hearing about her own death.

“So what now? Evil-you told me I had to learn how to live in the world. That I had to stop disconnecting from everyone and everything.”

Willow laughed, abrupt and pained. “You’re not changing yourself much through this, are you?”

“Oh, piss off,” Buffy snapped. “You have no idea what I’m going through.”

Willow laughed again. “I tried, Buffy. Six times I went back and I couldn’t change anything. So excuse me if I lack sympathy for little-miss-chosen who actually has the power to make the world a better place but can’t stop grieving about how it didn’t turn out like she wanted.”

“Who’d you lose, Will?” Buffy asked softly.

Willow masked her emotions with a blank, professional look Buffy didn’t ever remember seeing on her before. “It doesn’t matter. Not like you can afford to waste time going after Warren, anyway.”

Buffy sighed, suddenly exhausted. She’d gone so long without rest now. “Who were the main players our first year at college?”

“Jesse, Xander, Anya, Giles, me, Oz.” She paused. “Riley and Tara came later.”

“You had no idea who Tara was, the last time we spoke.”

“Don’t – I don’t need to know,” Willow said firmly. “Just fix it.”

Buffy nodded. She pushed herself up and out of her chair and dropped a bone into the bowl.


	8. 1999

“The lab has postponed their next time travel experiment. It will now take place next wee— er, I mean last week. Oh, sod it.” –  _Giles to Anya, summer 1999_  

 

The days between high school and college mostly bled together in Buffy’s memory. Instead of their usual sleepy, post-apocalypse quiet time, everyone and everything with delusions of evil had come running to fill the power vacuum left by Mayor Wilkins’ death. She’d done nothing but eat, sleep, and slay. In retrospect, she was proud of herself for getting through it on her own. Giles had been away most of the summer, sorting out a Green Card. Xander was ‘driving across the fifty states’ in Oxnard. Cordy left the day after graduation. Oz went touring with the Dingoes, and Willow was as dedicated a groupie as her parents let her. 

But this one day, Buffy remembered. Her mom was away, but Giles and Willow were in town, and the mailman had delivered this fat envelope full of stuff for college. She’d felt overwhelmed and uncertain at the time, and ended up spending hours agonising over whether or not to ask for help. Ultimately, she’d just kept putting it off, and eventually Willow went through her closet looking for a jacket to borrow and found the envelope. She’d force-helped Buffy to sort through it during patrol, but it’d been pretty slip-shod. Buffy was hoping she could use this day to change her whole college experience, and maybe head off some of the general drifting apart Spike exploited later that year, particularly with Willow. That was the theory, anyway. But with all that had changed, who knew where everyone would be this time around? 

Past-Buffy had clearly moved onto a nocturnal schedule, because it was noon by the time she escaped her post-time-travel-illness jag. As soon as she was dressed, Buffy called Willow. A few minutes later, they were set to meet at the Espresso Pump at three, then grab an early dinner before Willow caught the bus to Santa Maria for Oz’s gig. Perfect. It even gave Buffy time to eat and catch up with Giles first.  

 

-∞- 

 

The door to Giles’ apartment was ever-so-slightly open and it made Buffy feel pleasantly nostalgic. It took two burglaries post-Sunnydale before she relearned her LA habit of locking doors. There was prog rock playing, not ear-shattering but still pretty loud. He probably wouldn’t hear knocking. “Giles?” Buffy called out, opening the door the rest of the way and slowly walking in. 

There was a naked woman bent over the record player. A vaguely familiar naked woman…. 

“Anya?” Buffy gasped. 

The music stopped abruptly, needle dragged off the record. The woman turned around, expression somewhere between annoyed and irate, but absolutely comfortable with her own nudity. “Buffy,” she said crossly. “What a wonderful surprise.” 

Who knew she was a natural blonde? Buffy hurriedly covered her eyes. “Could you, maybe, um, clothes, please!” If she’d been just a little bit less naked, Buffy probably would’ve hugged her. While Anya was alive, Buffy never understood the attraction, but Xander said enough over the years that Buffy came to regret never knowing her better. Looked like Xander wasn’t going to get the chance either, this time around. Or at least not in the biblical sense. 

Anya made an annoyed noise; Buffy could practically hear her eyes rolling. Then there was a whoosh of air followed by a pop and Buffy realised the vague demon tinglies she’d felt were not one of Giles’ less wholesome books or artefacts, like she’d originally assumed. He was just having naked fun times with  _Anyanka the_ _vengeance_ _demon_. At least she’d teleported elsewhere now. Hopefully where there were clothes. 

“Buffy,” Giles said quietly. “You can look now.” 

Buffy lowered her hands. Giles was standing halfway down the stairs, seemingly wearing nothing but a tightly-belted robe and looking thoroughly dishevelled. Now that he didn’t seem quite so impossibly old, Buffy could appreciate Willow and Anya’s swoon-worthy verdict when they’d seen him on open mic night. 

“I am so sorry. Can I grovel? I feel like I should be grovelling now.” 

He smiled, tight-lipped and not very happy. “I’ll make it up to her later.” He paused. “I had thought we covered ‘knocking before entering’ at some length last year.” 

Buffy winced. “Again with the sorry. The door was open, and I just….” 

“Let me get dressed.” Giles’ smile became more genuine. “Put the kettle on?” 

She fled to the kitchen.  

Giles was back by whistling stage, wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt and still very bed-headed. As he got out the tea things, he said, “I take it holy water didn’t work out as well as you’d hoped with the Groener demons?” 

“Huh?” Buffy replied, completely lost. 

Giles sighed as he poured water into the mugs, then fixed hers exactly the way she liked it. Buffy got the impression ‘tea with Giles’ was a thing. 

“Did you hit your head last night?” he asked, trying to surreptitiously check her for injuries. “It’s usually me who gets concussion….” 

“Can we talk about what happens when I start college?” Buffy blurted. 

Giles, now very confused, led them both back to the living room. “Of course.” 

“It’s just … everyone’s changing, leaving, growing up. And I’m still here, slaying.” As she talked, Buffy found herself thinking about the years after Sunnydale but before the war, when everyone was happily paired off, mostly with kids, and not really involved in saving the world more than once or twice a year. Meanwhile, she’d stayed the same old Buffy, forever twenty-two and slaying full time. Not like she had other options – one and a bit years of college hardly qualified her for anything else. She had to be careful about the examples she used, but it turned out there were a surprising number of parallels. 

“Oh, Buffy,” Giles said, sympathetically. “You must allow yourself to grow, too. Learn to trust in your abilities to succeed as a woman as well as a slayer.” 

She laughed semi-hysterically, shocked by quite how much it affected her to finally talk about this. “I don’t know how to do both. I don’t think I ever have.” 

Giles gave her a good pep talk – much better than she’d expected. And he promised they’d get back into a regular training regimen, now he was back, so she’d have some continuity and support while everything else was changing. They even made plans to check out the university gym together during induction week.  

Buffy also discovered a few things. Like that even though she’d still spent the summer all-out slaying on her own, Giles had been on the other end of the phone every couple days. And she didn’t get the vibe they were the kind of calls where he just told her what to do either. Something fundamental had changed in their relationship so Giles let go of being her teacher. After he died, Buffy realised that had been their biggest problem. If he didn’t think he was teaching her, Giles would pull back, assuming she didn’t want or need anything else from him. But that meant, as adults, he only spoke to her if he thought she was screwing up. So she was always angry or defensive or both. They’d been on such bad terms by the time he died, she’d seriously considered skipping the funeral. For the first time, Buffy was finally looking forward to remembering the past she was creating. Whatever past-her was building with Giles, it worked. 

Despite several very suggestive hints, Buffy had no joy prying out the story of Giles and Anyanka. But he looked happy, in a way Buffy couldn’t remember ever seeing him before. He’d hated every second of being unemployed, and there’d been an underlying tension running through him pretty constantly until he bought the Magic Box. But now Giles seemed relaxed, wholly at peace with himself. It wasn’t until Buffy was about to leave that she found out why: it turned out he was still employed by the Council. 

She was so freaked out she very nearly bolted straight out the door. But the more she thought about it, the less sense it made. The first big crack in their relationship had been Giles taking away her slayer strength without telling her; she couldn’t believe things could be this good between them if he’d sided with the Council. But equally, he shouldn’t still have his job if he’d taken her side. Maybe that was a question best left for future-Willow. Buffy was thoughtful and subdued on her way to meet past-Willow. She was creating a very, very different reality. 

 

-∞- 

 

It was nice, seeing the Espresso Pump again. Nice, too, to have a Willow who cared. Although caring had its downsides … she noticed things. 

“So, um, you gonna tell me what’s wrong, Buff?” Willow asked carefully, sipping at her iced mocha and whipped cream monstrosity. She’d picked up a lot of chic on the road with Oz this summer, but she’d still gone for the sweetest, creamiest, least-coffee-like option. 

Buffy frowned into her hazelnut latte; she didn’t remember the last time she’d had coffee with milk, let alone flavour shots. It was blissful. “What could possibly be wrong?” 

“Well, pretty much all summer you’ve been heavy into the slayage, and not so much into the friendage.” Willow winced, clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable with having said anything. 

“You noticed, huh?” Buffy said, looking suitably guilty and slumping into her seat.  

Willow nodded solemnly. “Standing me up for the Dingoes’ gig at the Bronze last Thursday was a pretty big clue.” 

“I’m really sorry about that.” Buffy desperately hoped she wouldn’t need to explain why, because she had no idea. 

“You said,” Willow said lightly. “And I get it. I mean, when you gotta slay, you gotta slay.” She looked down at her coffee milkshake. “And I’ve been away so much, it’s not like I’ve been helping at all … besides, you invited me.” She grinned. “Friendage for the win, all lapses forgiven.” 

Weakly returning the smile, Buffy drew patterns in the condensation on the table in front of her while the silence built. This was so much harder than she’d expected it to be. “I’m terrified of college,” she blurted finally. She would gladly have died rather than admit to that the first time around. 

Willow’s whole body scrunched up in horrified confusion. “Why?” 

Buffy laughed, despite herself. “It’s not like I think it’s objectively terrifying, like spiders or—” 

“Frogs,” Willow added with a shudder and a face full of disgust. 

“Right. College is just terrifying for me.”  

“I feel like I should be apologising now.” 

“Really don’t,” Buffy said quickly. She’d been so scared in the past that her fear would somehow take away Willow’s joy. But of course it didn’t; why should it? It never had with school. She gave Willow her best encouraging smile. “It’s gonna be the best thing that ever happened to you.”  

“You think?” Willow asked shyly. 

“I know,” Buffy said firmly. 

“But why not for you?” 

“With all the other stuff I was doing instead of studying, you basically carried me through high school.” 

“There were good reasons for that,” Willow said loyally. “And your SAT scores were amazing.” 

“Sure,” Buffy said, frustrated. “I’m not over-identifying with my hair colour here. But my approach to high school was pretty much survival-mode.” She frowned, speaking mostly to herself. “And not just academically. Huh.” 

Willow did not look enlightened by the explanation.  

“Never mind,” Buffy said, waving one hand dismissively. “What I’m trying to get at is that college is all about loving learning.” Buffy made a face. “That has never been me.” 

“But you like learning slayer-y stuff, don’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Buffy said, shrugging. “Just not so much when it comes out of a book. Or if it doesn’t have a pretty immediate application.” 

Willow nodded in reluctant agreement. “You liked some school stuff, though, right?” 

“Name one thing.” 

There was a long silence, while Willow looked increasingly panicky. 

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “For college, I want to pick classes I’ll enjoy, or at least that I can use.” 

“Okay,” Willow said thoughtfully. “Have you got your course selection stuff?”  

Buffy pulled the fat envelope out of her bag and pushed it across the table towards Willow. “It’s all in there.” 

Willow opened the envelope. Even after so many years, Buffy felt her breath catch in apprehension. She couldn’t believe something so small still scared her. But she’d always felt lesser, somehow, for not having finished college. If she’d never started, like Xander or Faith or any number of other people she’d fought alongside over the years, it would have been different. But having got nearly halfway through and then abandoned it? That was failure with a capital FAIL. 

It took them a while, including about an hour on Willow’s computer looking up various things, but by the end of it they’d mapped out a set of classes Buffy thought she could manage and might even enjoy. Plus Psych 101. They’d even checked against next year’s options to make sure she had somewhere to go with it all. For the first time in her entire life, Buffy felt hopeful about college. 

On the way to the bus station, Buffy teased out some of the more immediate repercussions of her last visit: Willow and Amy had re-ensouled Angel successfully, but he’d still left for LA after graduation day. Since Buffy could hardly ask Willow about their relationship, she was no wiser on that front. She fingered the raised and still-angry scar on her neck from where he’d bitten her. It felt odd having that back; it had faded completely years ago.  

Willow caught her doing it, and said, “I’ve never been so scared in my life as I was sitting in that ambulance with you.” She shivered. “Next time you decide to save a vampire with your blood, maybe do it nearer the hospital?” 

Buffy forced herself to keep walking, laugh even, but inside she was reeling. She’d wondered if her spur-of-the-moment decision to be completely upfront with her friends about Angelus coming back from hell had changed things. It sounded like past-her had run with the no-holds-barred approach and changed even more. 

Buffy wasn’t able to work Faith into the conversation, but since Angel had still been poisoned, it seemed unlikely much had changed. The reasons for Jesse and Amy’s break-up turned out to be the mystery of the ages, although Willow suspected Xander knew. After graduation, Amy had disappeared to stay with her dad’s sister near Boston, and Jesse announced he’d be Kerouac-ing around America with Xander. And then Willow’s bus was boarding. 

Buffy gave her a bone-crushing hug. “You know you’re my best friend, right?” 

“Air!” Willow squawked. Then, grinning, she replied, “Of course. You’re my best friend, too.” 

 

-∞- 

 

It was peaceful getting back in the slaying saddle again. Buffy’d spent so many years fighting in groups and worrying about battle tactics, she was loving just walking around and picking fights with whatever ran across her path. Especially now, with so many little bads to choose from, and a body that mostly did what she wanted.  

She got cocky as the night went on though, and very nearly let a pair of Grappler demons do permanent damage. Exhausted and more injured than was strictly safe for a night out in Sunnydale, Buffy sank down on a bench in the little parkette she’d ended up in. She could just rest here for a while. It would be fine. 

“Hey there, not-the-Slayer,” a familiar voice drawled. “We still have a truce?” 

Buffy groaned. She was better than this, really she was. Intellectually, she’d always known Spike was in Sunnydale this summer, but because she hadn’t actually seen him until just before Halloween, it never occurred to her they might run into each other. 

“What, not happy to see me?” He held his arms out and did a little spin, then ran his hands down his chest until his thumbs hung off his hips, long fingers framing his crotch. “Go on, look your fill.” 

Clearly, he’d seen – or smelled, the bastard – more than he’d admitted to the last time they met. Buffy put her hands over her eyes for the second time that day and swore profusely in her head, where past-her wouldn’t hear it. 

And now Spike was just laughing at her. Perfect. Buffy dropped her hands and glared at him, furious with herself for not realising he’d been watching her. “Weren’t you leaving and never coming back?” 

He shrugged. “Changed my mind.” 

Buffy rolled her eyes. 

“Bit of a bugger runnin’ into you just now, though. Don’t s’pose you could make it so the real Slayer never saw me, could you?” 

“It doesn’t work like that,” Buffy said, half-apologetically. It might have been nice, talking to him without worrying about past-her eavesdropping. But those blue eyes were full of laughter and curiosity, not love. Any talking they did now would be limited by the time they were in. 

Spike shrugged. “Worth a shot.” He sauntered over to her. “Ready to tell me who you are yet?” He reached out his left hand, very slowly, and ran his knuckles softly along the scar on her neck. “You been cheating on me, baby?” 

Shivering, she slapped his hand away. Letting him get within touching distance was verging on the suicidal. This Spike was healthy and strong, and she was hurt and tired. 

Grinning, he took an ostentatious step back. “Truce, love. Truce.” Spike gave her a very slow once-over she couldn’t help her body’s reaction to. Laughing, he added, “Consider this your get out of jail free card.” 

Buffy frowned up at him. 

“You made sure you were never between me an’ somewhere to sit, last time we met.” For the first time, Spike’s face was genuinely serious. “Owe you for that.” 

Internally, Buffy smacked herself. She hadn’t even noticed. “You were drunk off your ass the last time we met,” she said lightly, “I was just trying to make sure you didn’t fall on me.” 

“Naughty, naughty, not-the-Slayer. Not talkin’ ‘bout the last time I saw that hot l’il bod you’re inhabitin’. Talkin’ ‘bout the last time I saw  _you_.” 

At least one question was answered. Yes, Spike had come back to Sunnydale last year, drunk and miserable. 

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Buffy asked sweetly. 

Spike grimaced, part anger, part anguish. “Dru kicked me out again.”  

Buffy flinched: no Harmony. She wondered how much of a difference that would make. 

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said softly. “You deserve better from her.” 

Spike twitched his shoulders and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Kept saying I belonged to some bird called Buffy Summers. What a giggle, hey?” 

If Buffy hadn’t already been sitting down, that statement would have done the job. “And you’re not angry about that?” 

“Nothin’ to do with you, now is it?” He smiled his little-boy smile while he put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. “Got a plan to win her back, though.” Off Buffy’s stunned look, he added, “You know why I’m here, don’t you?” 

Buffy wasn’t sure how to answer that. No matter how denial-loving Willow claimed she was, past-her would never be able to ignore her own sudden and inexplicable knowledge of a ring-of-invincibility for vampires. So she channelled her inner Dawn and gave him her best withering look. “You’re here to bag your third slayer, right Spike?” 

Spike took another drag off his cigarette, never once taking his eyes off of her. “We did alright with that truce a couple years ago. Last year, too.” 

Buffy wished she knew more about what had happened last year. “Are you eating people?” 

Spike glowered at her, the moment broken. “Course I am. What kind of question’s that?” 

Buffy sighed. “I can’t let you stay here.” 

He stiffened, eyes going cold. He gave her a less lascivious, one-fighter-to-another, once-over. “Left knee’s swelling up a treat. Can smell your blood leaking out somewhere.” He cocked his head to one side, maybe listening for something? “Breathin’s shallow. Busted rib, I reckon.” He vamped out. “You wanna fill your dance card tonight, love, I’ll oblige. Nothin’s better’n fighting a slayer.” 

He’d missed her fractured hand. There was no way she could beat Spike in a fair fight right now. Buffy sighed. “Stand down, tough guy. Truce for tonight.” 

He laughed, features slipping back to human, then dropped his cigarette butt and ground it out. “Does my lady want an escort home?” 

Calling herself all kinds of stupid in her head, Buffy agreed. He held out his arm, and she took it. It felt so good she almost let herself forget this wasn’t her Spike. He spent the whole walk trying to trick her into revealing who she really was, but Buffy managed not to say anything past-her couldn’t explain away in the morning.  

Even better, Buffy didn’t need to lie to herself about the glow of a cigarette outside her window as she fell asleep. 


	9. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, there is a small amount of Spike/Other in this chapter. Sort of. It's complicated....

“A time traveller walks into a bar. He enjoyed his food so much he went back four seconds.” – _Faith to Dawn’s children, autumn 2022_

 

When Buffy opened her eyes she was in someone’s living room, which was surreal and disturbing. She hadn’t been in any room with actual walls and a roof since they lost continental Europe. She was also still standing, and the pain didn’t seem quite so bad as last time. Maybe she was finally getting used to the whole time travel thing? And then suddenly Spike was kissing her, and her eyes were closed and it was like another trip back to her past. But just as Buffy was losing herself in the feel of him, he shoved her backwards and snarled, “Who the fuck are you?”

She stumbled back, tripping over an occasional table and sitting down abruptly on the sofa. As she fell, she caught a glimpse of long, dark brown hair in her peripheral vision.

“Faith?” It was Willow’s voice, and it sounded wobbly.

“Buffy,” Buffy gasped, unable to tear her eyes away from where Spike was dropping to the floor like his strings had been cut. “I’m Buffy.” Her voice resonated all deep and throaty in her head as she spoke, just as disturbing as the last time she’d been stuck in Faith’s body.

“Not possible,” Spike breathed, scrambling away from her, crab-like, as fast as he could. He’d lost control of his limbs in a way Buffy’d never seen before; he even banged his head against the wall when he crashed into it. “She’s been dead twenty-two years.”

Buffy watched his lips keep moving without sound. A tiny part of her hoped it was a count of months and days, but the rest of her knew that was pure, self-indulgent fantasy. “Surprise?” she said tentatively.

Buffy forced herself to look at Willow, who was sitting on a sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace, same old familiar bowl in front of her. Her hair was still red, but straggly and dull, like she hadn’t been looking after it. Her skin was hanging off her bones, and her eyes had dark circles under them. She’d aged, much more than any of the other Willows. Weirder, her bare arms showed dry patches with scabs, and her eyes were glassy and not quite focussing properly. She looked strung out on something.

“Prove you’re Buffy,” Spike snapped. He seemed to have regained some control over himself, and was now curled into a protective ball, arms clasped around his knees, sitting rigidly upright against the wall.

“But Buffy’s the only thing that explains the change,” Willow said, excitement evident in her voice. “The other times Faith went back, nothing really happened. This is the first time I can feel something.”

“I take it I succeeded in not being resurrected,” Buffy said drily.

Willow gaped at her, horror-stricken. “We – _I_ took you out of heaven?”

Spike buried his face in his knees and a tremor ran across his shoulders.

“You thought I was in a hell dimension,” Buffy said quietly, tearing her gaze away from Spike and back to Willow. “You were saving me.”

Tears were running down Willow’s cheeks and she was scratching furiously at the skin just above her left elbow. “I’m so sorry.” She stopped scratching and swiped a hand across her face, frustrated. “And it’s so not my place to cry over it.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, laying her hands down on her knees. When she looked up again, she was back in control. “That should never, ever have happened. I was arrogant, and stupid, and you trusted me to have your back and I hurt you and I am so, so sorry.”

All the air left Buffy’s body in a violent whoosh, leaving her gasping around an unbearable ache. “Thank you,” she choked out. Willow had never apologised like this before – making it about Buffy, instead of herself. And even though it wasn’t this Willow who did the damage, she understood it. Buffy had never known how much she needed that until Willow said the words.

“D-did I-?” Spike asked shakily.

“You knew nothing about it,” Buffy said quickly. “But you were the only one I told for a long time. And you helped me get through it.” Like that wasn’t the gloss-over of the century. But this Spike didn’t need to know about that.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied.

Desperate to talk about anything else, Buffy asked, “So whose place is this?”

“Theirs,” Willow said softly. “Faith and Spike’s.”

“It’s … nice,” Buffy said, looking around again. The walls were rental-beige and naked of anything that might give the room personality. The only things besides the rug that didn’t look like they came with the apartment were the TV and ten or fifteen books crammed willy-nilly onto the single shelf. “So you’re together?” she asked.

Spike twitched. “‘S complicated.”

Buffy’s heart ached. If her Spike had lived this long, he would never, ever have accepted so little. He’d learned he deserved more a long time ago, and even better, he’d learned to demand it. His last apartment had been lush and welcoming, an oasis of warmth and comfort that she’d always felt balanced out the world’s hardness, no matter how bad it got. She treasured every minute she spent in it.

“You died,” Buffy said softly. “Six years ago.” Seven months and…. It had been seventeen days when she’d thrown the first seed in the bowl. Was it still seventeen? Or twenty-one now? She knew how pointless it was keeping count – she’d seen Spike turn to dust that last time. But she still felt she owed it to him. Just in case.

He looked up, something approaching interest in his eyes for the first time. “Yeah?”

Buffy nodded. “Hero’s death. Champion, even.” Her voice wobbled at the word ‘champion’. They’d fought over that word, so many times. All she’d wanted was for him to be safe, but every time she said it, he heard ‘caged’. Or on their worst days, ‘unworthy’.

He laughed. “I’m no hero, Buffy.”

“I know you are.” She paused, wondering whether this Spike had also missed his chance to die saving the world. “But you don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to.”

“Were we friends?” he asked cautiously.

Now Buffy laughed. “We were never friends.”

“‘Course not,” he snapped. “What can I have been thinkin’?”

It was disturbing, meeting this Spike. The two past-Spikes she’d met didn’t know her well enough to love her. But this one used to, once upon a time. And he’d got over it.

“You were my everything.” Buffy said it under her breath, and Spike’s whole body jerked towards her in response.

Willow cleared her throat ostentatiously. Buffy’d completely forgotten she was there.

“Um, not to interrupt old home week or anything, but we still need to fix the past.”

Buffy nodded, forcing her focus back onto Willow. “Right. I had two priorities. Make sure no one resurrected me in 2001.” There was a slightly awkward pause. “And stop all the potentials from being activated a year and a half later.”

“All the – woweee.” Willow was practically vibrating with excitement. “That sounds like a doozy of a spell.”

“So how’d you end the apocalypse of 2003, then?”

Willow’s eyes darted to Spike and then back to Buffy.

“Doesn’t matter,” Spike said curtly. “Hardly the issue at hand, is it?”

Buffy sighed; she hoped his reluctance to talk about it meant he’d been the one wearing the amulet. “I take it me staying dead creates more problems than it solves?”

“Old Ones’re comin’ back,” Spike said. “Closed Hellmouths springin’ back to life, new ones popping up. It’s all we can do to keep up with them.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Everyone we can get,” Willow said quietly. “The Council, various covens, about thirty mercenaries and rogue demon hunters on our best days, plus both slayers.”

Buffy blanched slightly at the notion of there still being two slayers; Faith must have died and come back in this timeline. “But I thought – there was this whole cosmic balance thing, and my resurrection overbalanced the good side because it screwed up the slayer line, and then we overbalanced it even more by activating all the potentials. Stopping all that was supposed to fix everything.”

Willow frowned. “Oh, no. Magical resurrections are … they cost, but once the debt is paid, they don’t affect the balance.” She smiled kindly. “Even if it’s a slayer.”

Buffy really hoped that wasn’t the voice of experience talking. It had been some mystic demon prophet thing who said The First’s opportunity came from her resurrection, hadn’t it? Hardly the most trustworthy source. Would everyone have believed it without checking? Giles and Willow always said her resurrection was the root cause, way back when, and then again as the war was kicking off. But everyone felt so guilty about her losing heaven, that was exactly the sort of thing The First would want to exploit…. Or this Willow could be wrong.

“I don’t want to leave heaven if I can help it,” Buffy said finally, willing her voice not to waver but falling short.

“We sent Faith back to stop you from jumping,” Willow replied quickly. “I don’t think a resurrection is an option anymore. The me I was, back then I mean, I would’ve checked where you were first.”

Buffy sank back against the sofa, relieved. “So why’s it such a problem that I died?”

“It’s not so much you dying as how you died. Because you closed Glory’s portal and not Dawn, there was a tiny crack. Something on the other side has been using a sort of mystical crowbar to slowly pry it open ever since.”

Buffy’s blood ran cold at Willow’s earlier phrasing: ‘stop you from jumping’. “Was Faith supposed to stop me from dying, or stop me from dying _instead of Dawn_?”

Willow’s face flooded with guilt. “Either one would do the job.”

Buffy’s focus snapped back to Spike. “You promised to protect her.”

“It’s the end of the world,” he said quietly. “An’ it wasn’t my decision.”

Buffy’s heart lurched. “Dawnie said to do it?”

He nodded. “Insisted.”

“How is she?”

“Good,” Spike said. Then, “Hang on a tic.” He pushed himself to his feet and left the room.

“I never … it never occurred to me that anything like this was even possible.” Willow said, awed.

“What do you mean?”

“You really shouldn’t be here instead of Faith. With bells on. Best I can figure, we’re not part of each other’s ‘normal’ reality.” Willow paused ominously. “We’re just a … a temporary branch you created on one of your trips to the past.”

“Take it that means Faith’s gone for good,” Spike said from the doorway.

Willow was scratching at the skin above her elbow again. Buffy didn’t think she knew she was doing it.

“I don’t know,” Willow said sadly. “If we’re just a temporal blip, this entire dimension will cease to exist – no more any of us. If it’s an alternate dimension in its own right, and we’ve somehow just intersected with each other, then maybe Faith comes back after you leave.”

Buffy gave herself a shake. “Time travel makes my head hurt.”

Willow smiled at her sadly. “Not really your problem. No matter what happens, you’ll never see us again.”

Spike dropped an unlocked phone into Buffy’s lap. On it were photos of Dawn, more grown up than Buffy’d ever seen her, laughing and happy with twin girls who grew from tiny babies to toddling children right before her eyes. Her hair was still long and impractical, and she was with a guy Buffy hoped might be Michael. They looked at each other with nothing but love.

“I’m sorry I’m not Faith,” Buffy said as she scrolled through the photos, tears pricking at her eyes.

Spike shrugged. “Let’s get you gone. Save the world and all that rot.”

She reached the end of the album, then went back to the shot of Dawn breastfeeding and making a goofy face at the camera. Stroking the screen one last time, Buffy gave Spike his phone. “Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“Died, did she?” he asked gruffly.

Buffy nodded. “She saved a lot of people, though.”

“That’s my girl,” Spike said proudly.

“She didn’t have much of a life for a long time before that. Seeing her so happy….”

Buffy could feel Spike’s hand hovering over her shoulder for a long time before his fingertips skimmed her skin in a barely-there squeeze. Then he slipped his phone into his pocket and hightailed it back to the other side of the room

“Got any advice?” Buffy asked, trying to surreptitiously wipe her eyes.

“Staying alive would be good,” Willow said. She shrugged. “You’ve done this a few times – I’m guessing you already know going back to the day of the battle won’t change much.”

“Got that memo.”

“You wanted to die by the end of that year,” Spike blurted. “Don’t reckon you ever planned on comin’ back from the tower.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the floor near Buffy’s feet. “Need to fix your death wish. Give yourself reasons to live.”

Buffy smiled wryly. “I don’t think anything good happened that year.”

“Can be depressed without wantin’ to die,” Spike said sharply.

“Boy howdy,” Willow added, nodding. “And even if you know you can’t change something, try harder. Sometimes, if you know you tried, it’s easier to live with yourself after.”

Buffy suddenly knew when she wanted to go back.

“Or not,” Spike said harshly.

Willow threw him a sympathetic glance.

Buffy put her hand into Faith’s skin-tight jeans and pulled out a seed. She got up off the sofa, and dropped it into the bowl.


	10. 2000

“I heard the funniest time travel joke tomorrow.” – _Willow to Riley, autumn 2000_

 

Buffy had been so good every time she’d gone back to the past. She’d prioritised anyone and everyone but herself. But Willow and Spike had all but ordered her to make past-her happy this time around. It was selfish, maybe even wasting an opportunity to save the world, and almost definitely too direct a change to work. But she hoped that trying harder to save her mother would make past-her want to live. If Buffy was really lucky, they might even get a little more time together.

The nausea was the worst it had ever been. To the point Buffy was genuinely worried she might start losing internal organs. Of course, that might be because of the smell. What could possibly have possessed her to fall asleep in the town dump? It wasn’t even like it was a hangout for things that went bumpy in the night – she’d certainly never patrolled here.

That was when Buffy remembered. That first day her mom complained of a headache? That was the same morning Xander woke up in the dump, split in two by that ugly demon with no skin on his face. His creepy stick must have actually hit its target this time around, and now she was trapped in weak-Buffy’s body with no slayer powers. Like living through her eighteenth birthday once hadn’t been bad enough? And damn – she’d completely forgotten to ask Willow about that.

Buffy’s anxiety ratcheted up higher and higher the more time she wasted vomiting. Would strong-Buffy protect her family? Would she even care? Past-her had spent so much of this year terrified she was losing her humanity – her ability to love. Was super-slayer-Buffy going to be some kind of soulless demon? Would she have a yuck-tastic slayer-game-face with tusks and bumpies? Her stomach cramped in a wave of fear. She had to get home. Now.

It became obvious pretty quickly how much Buffy relied on her slayer strength. She had to rest and catch her breath far too many times on what should have been an easy five-mile run. Also, she was _way_ sweaty, which only added to her base layer of eau de dump. So gross.

She was just rounding the corner onto Revello Drive when she saw Riley storming out of her house, face dark with anger, and slamming the door behind him. That was scary. What the hell was going on in there? Then strong-Buffy stalked out in a practical outfit that wouldn’t have been out of place in Buffy’s present, slay-bag over one shoulder. To her great relief, the slayer-demon-essence did not appear to have manifested in any way.

Strong-Buffy also seemed cheerful – downright perky, even. In their original past, anything that inspired Riley to slam a door would have meant desperate hours with Willow and ice cream, trying to work out what Buffy’d done wrong. She sighed in envy. Strong-Buffy must be made of the sternest stuff going. She watched as the other her nonchalantly lifted up the manhole cover nearest the house and dropped into the sewers.

Buffy couldn’t decide whether or not she should risk going into the house, but her indecision was rewarded after a few minutes when her mother and Dawn came out the front door and got into the car for the school run. As soon as she lost sight of them, Buffy climbed into the house through her bedroom window and had a very long, very hot, shower. It wasn’t until after she’d dressed herself in a skirt with a shaky and long-distance relationship to her knees and completed four different layers of ‘neutral’ makeup that she realised the spell must be affecting her more than just physically. Disappointed in herself for letting the magic get to her, Buffy set off for her mom’s gallery.

 

-∞-

 

“Buffy!” Joyce said, beaming. “What brings you here?” Her smile dipped as she took in the skirt. “What are you wearing?”

Buffy made a face. “Throw-back Thursday?” Joyce still looked confused. Of course she did. They were back in the land before hashtags. Then Buffy did what she’d been wanting to do ever since she started time travelling: she hugged her mother.

It was everything she’d hoped for. They’d finally hit their stride this year, and instead of asking questions or trying to keep on the conversational track of wardrobe, Joyce just held her. Her hair smelled of Herbal Essences, and her arms were warm and strong. To Buffy’s shock, she realised she was crying. No, not crying, full-out sobbing.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Joyce asked, hugging her a little tighter.

“I love you so much, Mom!” Buffy wailed. Clearly, emotional control was something strong-Buffy got to keep post-split. She eventually got a hold of herself. By which time, Joyce had pulled her into the office at the back of the gallery.

“Is this about your fight with Riley this morning?” Joyce asked earnestly, holding onto Buffy’s shoulders and staring deep into her eyes.

“No,” Buffy said, smiling through her sniffles. “I just … I’m having kind of an over-emotional day.”

Joyce did not look convinced.

“I’m worried about your headaches,” Buffy added.

Her mother put on a good front, but Buffy was old enough now to recognise protective-lying-face when she saw it. “You’re popping Advil like candy,” she guessed.

Joyce immediately looked guilty. Yahtzee.

There followed a good twenty minutes of agonisingly painful arguing, during which Buffy exploited every single daughterly guilt trip in the book. Joyce, meanwhile, played the mom card every chance she got. But Buffy persevered, and Joyce finally made an appointment with her doctor under her daughter’s watchful eye.

Job done, Buffy stayed to help out in the gallery – something Joyce had stopped offering years ago because Buffy never took her up on it. It was just as dull as Buffy’d always thought it would be, but it meant spending time with her mother, and oh boy, did that ever make Joyce happy. So Buffy fetched and carried and was grateful there were no new deliveries and therefore no call for heavy lifting. This was supposed to be a day for bonding. The last thing Buffy wanted to do was admit to being temporarily lacking in slayer strength while a demon was out to get her.

Buffy’d spent more than twenty years thinking about what she should have said to her mother and didn’t. Being in heaven had taken the sting out of a lot of it, but Buffy was very aware she was actively trying to stop that trip from happening. Today was her one and only chance to make sure she had no major regrets.

Joyce, who was not a stupid woman, finally sat Buffy down towards the end of the afternoon and demanded to know just how much danger her daughter was in from that demon Riley mentioned. Buffy laughed, then promptly started crying again. But despite Joyce’s pleas, Buffy expertly avoided every question, and instead pushed harder for Joyce to promise she would get the full gamut of tests from her doctor. Buffy did, however, submit to her mother’s insistence that she arrange a Scooby meeting.

She asked Xander and Willow to rally the troops, since she wasn’t sure who was in or out in this timeline and didn’t want to risk getting it wrong. After a hard look from her mother, Buffy even forced herself to call Riley, who thankfully wasn’t home. She left a message on his machine, hoping he’d get it too late to do anything. The last thing she wanted was to interfere any more in past-her’s love life. Strong-Buffy had already done enough damage.

When she finally left her mother to her paperwork, Buffy walked to Giles’ feeling lighter than she had in years. All she needed to do now was tell everyone there were two Buffies running around, lay low until strong-Buffy killed the demon, and find out whether whole-and-unsplit-Xander had still managed to get a job and an apartment.

 

-∞-

 

The rain didn’t start coming down in earnest until after Buffy arrived at Giles’ place, leaving her with nothing worse than a light spattering. To her relief, it turned out the gang was almost exactly as expected. The only surprises were the presence of Oz – holding Willow’s hand, no less – and the absence of Tara. Although now that Buffy thought about it, Tara hadn’t been around the first time this happened either. Having an aura-reader on call to sort out the doppelgängers was probably one of those nice things slayers weren’t allowed to have.

Even more reassuring, no one seemed to think it was weird when Buffy suggested they start without Riley. She’d worried there might be fallout from Xander, especially. He’d loved having another normal guy around so much. Although maybe Jesse made that less of an issue? Plus Oz, now, at least for twenty-something days a month.

Buffy gave Willow a hug as soon as she saw her. She’d thought about hugging the newest Future-Willow, but the opportunity never quite presented itself. Past-Willow seemed bemused, but not surprised. Something in Buffy relaxed at the proof that they were still on impromptu hugging terms.

She surprised herself by leading with her mother’s headaches. Xander and Willow – whose mothers should never have been allowed to raise children – were immediately even more paranoid than Buffy and falling all over themselves to think of ways to help. Oz suggested they form a Keep Joyce Healthy Club, with regular meetings and action plans. Giles promised to take her out for coffee and a more adult follow-up, and a freakishly un-jealous Anyanka agreed.

Near tears again, Buffy finally recounted her smelly tale of woe. She used Giles’ favourite axe as a prop and proof of her weakness (she couldn’t even lift it past her knees). They all oohed and aahed and winced appreciatively, and then Xander challenged her to an arm wrestle, which he won easily. Giles tsked impatiently when Jesse wanted to go next, and began doling out the books.

Everyone dutifully knuckled down to search for the weapon that could split people in two. Buffy surprised herself by how safe and supported she felt. Here were all these people who not only cared about her and her mother, but were backing her to the hilt – following her lead, even – despite the fact she wasn’t the slayer anymore. They truly accepted and respected all of her.

That said, Anyanka was definitely giving her the stink-eye whenever Giles wasn’t in the room. Buffy sighed. Having an evil step-mother type was probably fair in exchange for everything else she was getting.

Just as Buffy finally found an opening to ask Xander about his job and apartment situation, Giles snapped shut the book he’d been reading. They all looked up.

“The rod device,” Giles said, “is called a ferula-gemina. It splits one person in half, distilling personality traits into two separate bodies.” He paused – Buffy suspected for effect. She’d forgotten how much he loved dramatic exposition back in the day. “So there is now one Buffy with all the qualities inherent in her _qua_ Buffy Summers, and another Buffy with everything that belongs to the slayer alone ... the strength, the speed, the heritage.”

“Didn’t Buffy tell you everything but the thing’s name an hour ago?” Anyanka asked, not entirely unkindly.

“Yes, well,” Giles replied stiffly, “it’s always useful to get confirmation.”

Suddenly the front door banged open with a gust of wind and rain, and there was Riley, soaking wet, his face like thunder.

“I’m certain that was locked,” Giles muttered.

 

-∞-

 

“So let me get this straight,” Riley said slowly. “The Buffy we all saw last night and I saw this morning was some kind of crazy slayer-concentrate?” He sounded so hopeful.

Buffy pressed her lips together nervously and shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Fine,” Riley said, so quietly it was almost as intense as shouting. “So how do we get rid of it?”

Willow gave Buffy a look that said louder than any words, ‘I am prepared to hate this man any way you want.’ Oz caught the look, and gave Buffy a tiny nod of support.

Buffy immediately teared up. Stupid loss of her slayer-side, making her all emotional. “Didn’t you hear anything I said? She’s not an ‘it’, she’s _me_.”

“Sure.” Riley shrugged helplessly. “A part of you, yeah, but not the real you.”

Buffy suddenly felt like she was about to throw up, worse than waking up in the dump.

“Why would you want to get rid of any part of Buffy?” Jesse asked, shocked. There was a subtle shift in positions as everyone in the room moved closer to Buffy and further away from Riley.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, holding his hands up. “I put that badly. And to be very clear,” he stared Buffy down, “this is nothing to do with me or what I want.”

Anyanka snorted. “Says the man who used to torture demons and limit their powers for a living.”

Riley shot a glare in her direction – it seemed like an old argument – before turning back to Buffy with his most open and honest face. “I just thought … Buffy, this is your chance to escape fate. To be normal.”

If he’d stabbed her, it couldn’t have hurt more. Riley had sworn over and over that he loved all of her the whole time they were dating and every time they’d seen each other since. And while she’d always known that was hard for him – hurt him even – she’d never doubted the love part. Not until now. Willow’s hand found hers and grabbed on tight while Xander glared venomously at Riley. It was enough to help her hold back the tears.

“That’s all rather moot,” Giles said blandly. “Since neither Buffy can exist without the other. Kill one, they both die.” And now he was glaring at Riley too.

“That explains why Toth would want to do it,” Willow said, giving Buffy’s hand another squeeze. She shuddered. “Poor Buffy.”

“Absolutely,” Riley said earnestly. “Poor Buffy.”

Xander raised his hand.

Giles pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Xander?”

“Not to be awkward or anything, but, uh, where is the other Buffy?”

“She went off to look for Toth this morning,” Riley said. “She knows what’s going on.”

“Are you sure?” Xander asked. “I mean, does she know she’s lacking her smarter, less slayer-y side?”

Buffy shot him a grateful look. “It’s not like she’s in any danger,” she said glumly. “Smart or not, I bet she’s even stronger than I usually am.”

“No, no,” Giles chided. “Neither one of you possesses anything individually that you didn’t already have, er, combined.”

Riley stepped closer to Buffy. “At least you’ll stay where it’s safe, though, right?”

She smiled grimly while definitely not flinching away from past-her’s boyfriend. Nope. She was totally comfortable with him touching her right now.

Riley practically glowed, his smile was so bright. “I’ll take care of you.”

Anyanka’s eyebrows shot straight past her hairline. “How? By throwing a statue of Oofdar the fertility goddess at his head?”

Giles frowned. Buffy got the impression there would be Words later on.

“I’m hardly as weak and useless as Giles,” Riley snapped.

Perhaps Words would be had with more than one person.

“There’s a whole lot of power in this room available for the protecting, you know,” Jesse said, clearly indicating Willow, who immediately blushed.

Oz gave him a nod of approval.

Anyanka stood up, suddenly veiny and threatening. “If there’s going to be any rescuing of humans from demons tonight, it’ll be me doing it.”

Buffy had a moment of unadulterated glee for her past self. She would have such amazing backup fighting Glory this time around.

“Or, you know, the other Buffy,” Willow added loyally. “Maybe she’s already killed him.”

Riley looked absolutely miserable. And Buffy suddenly realised she didn’t care. “Look, maybe you should just go home. Let us handle this.”

There was a long moment of silence while Riley searched in vain for any sign of support from the rest of the room. “Yeah,” he said, defeated. “I guess you really don’t need me, do you?”

Buffy’s stomach was completely calm for the first time all day. “Me needing you is not the point. It was never the point.”

Finally, he seemed to have worked out he’d done something wrong. “I’ll, uh, can I call you tomorrow?”

Buffy nodded. Past-her would have to decide on next steps. She’d done as much as she dared.

“See you ‘round, guys,” Riley said dully, like he knew he wouldn’t.

As the door clicked shut, Xander laughed a little too loudly – an obvious stress response. Jesse gave him a surreptitious kick and he stopped just as abruptly as he’d started.

Buffy suddenly realised what had been bugging her about Xander and Jesse all night. Every time she’d gone into the past, they’d both pretty much addressed her breasts instead of her face. Tonight, there was none of that. Nor had they made any porn-related comments about multiple Buffies. Very weird. She gave herself a shake. “Sorry about all that, guys.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Anyanka said sharply. Then she gave Buffy a tight smile.

Buffy burst into tears. “Happy tears!” she wailed. “Very happy tears!” Willow, Xander and Jesse were all immediately hugging her, while Oz coolly squeezed her shoulder.

It was a total anti-climax when Toth blasted through Giles’ (still unlocked) front door moments later, shouting “Die, Slayer!” Willow muttered something that made him freeze in place mid-leap, while Anyanka nonchalantly picked up Giles’ favourite axe from the floor and took off Toth’s head in a single swipe.

“That was remarkably efficient,” Giles said, bending over to examine the shards of what used to be his front door. “I did rather like that carpet, though.”

Anyanka gave Giles a considering look and whispered something that made his ears turn pink. Then she gave the axe another experimental swing. “I still think the balance is wrong.”

“Which is why I bought you your own,” Giles said testily.

Xander stepped over Toth’s body to stand next to Giles in the doorway. “We’ve got another half hour before Home Depot shuts. Who’s coming with?” He, Jesse and Oz left, promising to bring back pizza along with the new door.

Buffy just let the happy tears flow. With a gang like this, she should be able to get away with taking a couple weeks’ vacation every year. Anyanka could even teleport her back if it got really bad.

 

-∞-

 

Strong-Buffy showed up looking like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards just as the guys returned. She not only ate an entire pizza all by herself, but glared Buffy into admitting quite how many calories she actually needed to keep up with her metabolism. Willow was mortified, but Jesse immediately demanded an eating contest be scheduled between Buffy and Xander.

Buffy spent the whole ride to the Magic Box trying to work out whether strong-Buffy was past-her’s slayer side, or time-travelling-her’s slayer side. Her ‘twin’ was being annoyingly close-mouthed and Buffy didn’t dare ask directly.

But then they were standing in a pentagram surrounded by candles and Willow was saying, “Let the spell be ended,” and Buffy was herself again, with two sets of memories clamouring for attention. She’d joked for years about being two people trapped in the same body – the slayer and the woman – but today may have taken that metaphor just a little bit too far. She wondered what past-her would make of it, without the thoughts and emotions to get everything to fit together.

“Wow,” Buffy breathed. “That was intense.”

“So what did the other you get up to all day?” Willow asked curiously.

Buffy flushed crimson. “Let’s get brunch tomorrow. I’ll tell you all about it.” Then she ran back to her dorm as fast as she possibly could.


	11. 2000, alternate take

“I heard the funniest time travel joke tomorrow.” – _Willow to Spike, autumn 2000_

 

Buffy had been so good every time she’d gone back to the past. But Willow and Spike had practically ordered her to fix her biggest regrets. It was wrong, borderline evil even. She wasn’t even sure past-her would be able to stomach it. But she hoped that killing Ben – or even hurting him badly enough to keep him out of work and therefore away from her family – would make this year a happier one. If she was really lucky, Dawn might never end up on that tower at all.

The nausea was the best it had ever been. Definitely there, but nowhere near strong enough to force Buffy out of bed. She woke up in her dorm room, alone, which was odd. As far as she remembered, she and Riley had been sleeping together every night of the school year until next week, when her mom collapsed for the first time. It was a lucky break, though. Buffy didn’t need anyone’s help today, and she especially didn’t need Riley’s demon-equals-bad, human-equals-good help. Not for what she planned to do.

Then Dawn called to tell her that Riley was there with his most desperate puppy dog eyes, making every kind of breakfast food known to womankind and if Buffy wanted any bacon she better hurry. So Buffy went, deeply resenting Riley for keeping her from the one thing she needed to do that day. She just wished she could remember why she was so sure killing Ben would make a difference….

Frustrated as Buffy was at delaying her trip to the hospital, there was a silver lining. Riley reminded her that today she was supposed to be running around after the skinless wonder with his magical rod of doom. She’d completely forgotten that the week before Dawn met Ben for the first time, Xander was split in two by a demon. And given the lack of anyone else strong enough to kill it, she definitely needed to keep on top of that situation. Unfortunately, Riley was being an overprotective ass about it. He was all ‘your job makes you a target’ and ‘I don’t like you facing off alone with these creeps’. She’d forgotten how fixated he got on protecting her. But much worse, Dawn overheard the argument and immediately tattled to their mother, so now her family was freaked out, too, for no good reason.

Buffy was painfully aware how important it was to past-her for Riley to feel okay about being physically weaker and nowhere near as good in a fight. And she hadn’t forgotten how much she’d invested in having a nice, normal relationship, either. But she could only pretend she cared about Riley’s feelings for so long, and he just wouldn’t stop pushing! In the end, Buffy got so frustrated she told him outright she’d been sneaking out every night after he went to sleep just to get some real slaying done, instead of the hollow mockery of a patrol they did together.

After a hilariously red-faced Riley stormed out, Buffy decided she might as well go to the hospital via the sewers, just in case the monster of the week was there. She’d spent her original day hunting him in the smelliest places Sunnydale had to offer, but got zilch until he showed up all by himself at Xander’s apartment. Buffy was pretty sure the demon was nocturnal and the rod could somehow track what it hit so any daytime searching would be a waste of time. But a slayer couldn’t be too careful. Not with all these changes to her timeline, anyway.

By the time Buffy (uneventfully) reached the underground entrance to the hospital, she’d accepted she couldn’t just run in there waving a sword and take Ben’s head. The hospital was a big place with lots of witnesses, and she definitely couldn’t risk getting arrested for murder. So Buffy opened up her slay-bag and considered her options. Almost everything in there would be overkill and/or too messy for a human. Throwing daggers seemed the best bet: they were versatile, and wouldn’t leave too big a hole. Buffy slipped one into her boot and another into her sleeve, and stashed her bag behind some rocks.

Next, she considered clothes. Her current comfort-and-utility look was far too casual to pass muster under a white coat, so stolen scrubs it would have to be. Added bonus, no one would notice blood on scrubs. Buffy’s stomach lurched at that mental image. She’d seen blood gushing out of a wound before, just never by her own hand. Or at least not human blood. She shook it off. She knew the way to a man’s heart well enough: angle up between the fourth and the fifth ribs.

Ben had first appeared in a waiting room off Emergency, so Buffy figured that was as good a starting place as any. It was all disturbingly easy. Particularly the being-in-a-hospital part. Buffy had never grown out of her fear of them, but the antiseptic smell didn’t even make her queasy this time. It was nice. Odd, but nice. She found a women’s changing room within minutes, where not only were there stacks of one-size-fits-none scrubs but also masks and hats to match. She checked herself out in the mirror once she’d changed. In this get-up, no one would be able to say anything about her other than ‘short, white human’. Perfect.

Buffy wandered the halls, walking as purposefully as she could while looking surreptitiously into the rooms on each side. Despite her resolve, she couldn’t stop dwelling on the reality of what she was about to do. Ben had been a pretty nice guy, after all. Took really good care of Dawn. But Willow hadn’t said Buffy did her best work on instinct for nothing. If those instincts said ‘Ben needs to be slayed’, there was a reason, even if she didn’t know what it was.

 

-∞-

 

Buffy only just resisted the urge to scream. She couldn’t remember ever being so angry with herself. Willow warned her she couldn’t change anything big directly, but had she listened? She had not. She wasn’t ruthless enough – wasn’t strong enough – to sacrifice one person to save the world, and now she’d wasted an entire trip into the past. Maybe even destroyed the future.

Ben had been right there in front of her, all smiling and open, totally trusting. Vaguely flirty, even. She’d easily led him off into a deserted corner where no one was around to see or hear. The knife was in her hand, all ready, and she’d chickened out. Visions of how messed-up Faith got after killing that Deputy Mayor overwhelmed her. If future-Buffy couldn’t justify killing this man with anything better than a hunch, how could she possibly expect past-Buffy to live with it?

She needed to kill something. Preferably lots of somethings. Maybe even without weapons: tearing heads off with her bare hands sounded very therapeutic right about now. Unfortunately, it was the middle of the day, which drastically limited her options. But anything would be better than staring at herself in the mirror of the women’s changing room and listening to the recriminations and self-hatred screeching inside her head. Then Buffy had an idea.

She barely had to think to remember the way to Glory’s penthouse. To her great joy, it was full to bursting with minions. They tried valiantly to defend themselves and the apartment but were no match for a raging slayer with a broadsword and twenty-eight years’ experience. As her final parting shot, Buffy picked up the matches next to what looked like votive candles on a shrine, and set the curtains on fire. She could hardly leave the bodies to be discovered by the police, and besides, fire was pretty. It might never make up for her failure to kill Ben, but at least she could live with herself afterwards.

Covered in cuts and bruises and blood – both demon and her own – Buffy felt emotionally drained and physically exhausted. She couldn’t face the prospect of having to talk to anyone, but neither could she face being alone. So she went where she always had when she needed to be alone with someone else: Spike’s place.

The first thing Buffy saw when she entered the crypt was a half-mannequin in a halter-top and a blonde wig lying in bits all over the floor. That was when she remembered the stalker shrine Spike was probably building right about now. And quite how very creepy he’d been while trying to work out if he wanted to kiss her or kill her. Just as Buffy decided to go back to her dorm room and take a shower like a sensible person, Spike emerged from the shadows with a crossbow cocked and pointed straight at her.

“Well, well. Just can’t stay away, can you?” He was holding the weapon casually enough, but it was aimed at her heart and there wasn’t a waver in sight.

His eyes were wary and cold as ice. At least before she’d revisited their past, her memories of when he didn’t love her were distant and fuzzy. Now they were all she could see. Buffy turned and fled.

As she ran through the cemetery, the sky that had been steadily blackening all day opened up and it poured down with rain. By the time she reached her building, Buffy was soaked through and shaking with cold and emotional fallout. Once in her room, she stripped off and went straight for the showers.

When she returned, clean and warm and calmer, Spike was sitting on the floor outside her door, legs out straight in front of him and blocking the hallway. His hair was wet and plastered against his face, and his coat was dripping puddles on the floor.

He stared up at her, expression unreadable. “We still got a truce?”

“How did you know?” Buffy was suddenly breathless and very aware she wasn’t wearing anything but her grotty old robe and a towel in her hair.

Spike smiled, crooked and uncertain. “She doesn’t look at me like you do.” The smile sort of crumpled on his face. “Thought it was you put the chip in me. For the longest time.”

“It really wasn’t anything to do with me,” Buffy said softly.

“You knew what would happen, though. Back in that park. An’ you never said a word.” His expression was flipping back and forth between outrage and anguish. But there was softness there, for the first time since Buffy’d started travelling in time. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Buffy gave a near-imperceptible nod she hoped past-her wouldn’t notice. “I’m sorry,” she said. And she was. His worst nightmares were always about being helpless, and the Initiative had figured in them right up until his death.

“ _She_ isn’t,” Spike sneered.

Buffy shrugged. She couldn’t regret how the chip had changed him. “You would’ve killed me.”

He shivered. Then said petulantly, “Still would.”

Pursing her lips, Buffy crossed the hall to open her door. The edge of her robe was almost-but-not-quite brushing against his shoulder and she could practically feel the burn of his fingers splayed out on the floor just next to her bare foot. She turned her key in the lock and stepped over the threshold, turning her back to him. “Come in, Spike.”

There was a moment of silence before she heard him scramble upright and follow her inside, squelching loudly.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, Buffy’s first instinct was to drop her robe and see what happened. But that wasn’t who they were to each other. Not now, anyway. Instead, she turned to face him and very carefully sat down on her side of the bed. “Why’d you come after me?”

He cocked his head. “Why’d you come visit?”

She rolled her eyes. “I had a rough day.”

He was looking at her like she was crazy now.

Buffy laughed. “I know, I know. Stupid.”

“Shouldn’t you be hitting up tall, square and borin’ for the foot rubs and coddlin’?” His eyes had locked onto her upper thigh, just where her robe parted. Buffy didn’t think he was aware he was staring.

“I’m not sure we’re together anymore,” she said. Their fight that morning hadn’t gone as far as all that, but she’d humiliated Riley and she couldn’t picture him forgiving or forgetting it lightly.

Silence built between them as Buffy temporarily lost herself in a drop of water running down Spike’s throat and along the tip of his collarbone until it disappeared into his t-shirt.

“You’re soaking wet,” she said, jerking her eyes back up to his face. “Did you, um, want a towel or something?”

“Sure,” he said softly. “Ta.”

Buffy stood up and readjusted the belt of her robe, checking she was still covered. To get to her closet, she had to walk around to the other side of the bed, right past where Spike stood in the scant space between it and the door. She was almost there when his hand shot out and closed around her wrist.

“Buffy?” His voice was high and desperate, almost a whine.

She closed her eyes as his cold, wet fingers set her skin on fire.

Spike stepped in closer and his boots squelched again, breaking the moment. He released her wrist, and Buffy put the closet door between them while she looked for her other towel.

He shrugged off his coat, letting it drop to the floor with a wet thunk. Buffy turned to see him bending over and unlacing his boots. Clearly, he’d realised the squelching was not doing him any favours. Spike stepped out of the boots easily enough, but only just managed not to face-plant on the bed removing his waterlogged socks.

Buffy knew she had a big goofy grin on her face, but she didn’t much care. He might be grace incarnate when he fought, but Spike never could take his socks off standing up with any kind of dignity. When he straightened again, her grin was knocked sideways by the way his wet shirt and jeans clung to his skin, accentuating every line of muscle and dimple of flesh. By the time she noticed he was staring at her mouth like a starving man, she’d bitten her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. His fingers sparked against hers as he took the towel, setting her skin alight a second time.

Spike scrubbed at his hair, making it alternately flop over and stick up in a tangled mess. Then he did that thing with his tongue that, over more years than she cared to remember, had made Buffy’s knees go weak with startling reliability. She didn’t doubt for a second he’d noticed his effect on her, either.

He dropped the towel on the bed and crossed his arms to grab the ends of his t-shirt, slowly and deliberately lifting it over his head with a little shimmy partway through, just to show off his muscles that bit more. Buffy couldn’t decide whether to laugh at the spectacle or move in to lick the water off his skin. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, despite herself.

Suddenly uncertain again, Spike’s t-shirt got caught up in his elbows and he struggled more than he should have to get it the rest of the way off. Buffy, not considering the consequences, moved in to help. The shirt suddenly came free, slapping wetly against both of them on its way to the floor, and he was close enough she could feel his chest moving with every breath, for all that they weren’t quite touching yet. His fingers glanced off her hips before he took her hands in his, fingers intertwining, and stared into her eyes. He looked lost.

“You a witch?” he asked. His voice was hoarse with what Buffy recognised as want.

“I’m the slayer.”

Buffy initiated the kiss. She’d gone too many years without hearing that whimper-growl Spike made in the back of his throat when she bit along his jaw. And it’d be the best kind of fun to flip every single one of his switches when he didn’t know her body well enough to retaliate.

It was also her gift to him – and to herself, although past-her might never appreciate it. Buffy wanted it crystal clear between them that she, in full possession of her faculties, had chosen to go down this road. So she shoved Spike back against the bed, letting it buckle his knees for her. Then she firmly placed his hands palms-down at his sides. She didn’t trust herself to go slow if she let him touch, and Buffy wanted to relish this. Spike sat up on his elbows to watch as she sank down to her knees and slowly peeled off his jeans, his pupils blown wide and fingers bunching up the comforter to keep himself still.

Buffy dropped his jeans to the floor and licked the inside of one knee before trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses up his inner thigh. She was still exactly as she had been coming out of the shower – robe tied chastely around her, hair all twisted up in a towel – while Spike was now naked and vulnerable.

“Keep seein’ you,” he whispered. “Every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around.”

Buffy bit down on the soft skin at the top of his thigh, hard enough to leave a mark. Spike hissed and writhed beneath her, already out of control. She knew from experience the bruise would bring him back to this moment every time he saw or felt it until it faded. No matter how past-her felt about this tomorrow, he’d know it was real.

“Oh, god, Buffy.” He sounded near tears.

Staring deep into his eyes, she stood up and straddled his legs, rubbing herself against him while she held his wrists down with her body weight. “Be still,” she said firmly.

“Tell me you want me?” he begged.

“I will always want you,” Buffy said softly, watching love bloom across his face for the first time.

 

-∞-

 

She forced herself to stay awake when Spike finally passed out, nose mashed between her breasts and periodically kissing and stroking her in his sleep. Deliciously sated and basking in afterglow, Buffy adjusted the comforter around them both and listened to the rain.

When the phone started ringing, she ignored it. Buffy was far too comfortable to move – although the idea of going out to slay things once the rain stopped was attractive. Maybe she’d even let Spike come, if he promised not to steal her kills. She twined her fingers in his hair, idly wondering how past-her was going to rationalise her way out of the last few hours, and if Spike would still need to go through the creepy-stalker stage of abandoning evil this year.

There was a final beep of the answering machine, and then Riley’s voice came through: “ _I know you’re still at Giles’ place, but I wanted to say again that I’m sorry, and that I love you. When your friends put you back together again, I hope you’ll understand where I was coming from. I guess I’ll talk to you tomorrow._ ” He paused. “ _I really do love you, Buffy._ ” The machine beeped again, and recited the time: nine forty-seven – definitely after the demon had showed up at Xander’s place the first time around.

Buffy’s heart leapt to her throat. She sat up, half-rousing Spike, who tightened his grip around her middle.

“Quit it!” she exclaimed, gently but firmly pushing him away.

His eyes were just about half-lidded as he rolled off of her, groaning in protest.

“Promise me something?”

Spike became marginally more attentive. “Mmm?”

“Don’t ever let me forget that Ben Wilkinson needs to die,” Buffy said seriously. Then she grinned at him. “I need to go and rescue the other Buffy now.”

Spike burrowed back under the comforter and pulled a pillow over his head while Buffy threw on whatever clothes she could find as fast as she could. She ran all the way to Giles’ place, hoping against hope that rod-boy hadn’t managed to find weak-Buffy alone and unprotected.


	12. Five

“Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.” –  _Xander to Willow, summer 1987_

Faith must have been getting an easier ride with the time travel because the pain on re-entry was back to being eye-wateringly brutal. It felt even rougher in comparison to the cosiness Buffy left behind. When she opened her eyes, it was all bright, searing lights like some Hollywood interpretation of heaven, or one of her many real life experiences waking up on an operating table. Everything was too hazy and oversaturated to make out the details.

If she squinted, Buffy could just about see Willow a few feet away from her – a red-haired, smiling Willow wearing a flowing white robe with a gold circlet around her head like some kind of angel. Or possibly a cult-leader; Willow had never struck Buffy as the angel type. The white of her robe was blurring into the white of the background so it wasn’t clear where Willow ended and the rest of the world began. Buffy couldn’t even be sure whether she was sitting or standing. That ooky cloak would be a welcome sight right about now.

“Buffy,” Willow said, smiling beatifically and opening out her arms for a hug. “Welcome back.”

Despite what felt like a physical hook in her gut pulling her towards Willow, Buffy stayed exactly where she was. Out of habit, she reached for the place behind her shoulder where the protective amulet used to be buried under her skin. To her shock, she felt its familiar smoothness and sharp edges.

“Oh, sweetie,” Willow said sadly. “Don’t you trust me?”

There was a jerk at her heart now, like Willow’s sadness was something she couldn’t bear. “Um, not so much?”

Willow’s arms floated gently down to rest at her sides. “You’ve done it, you know.” 

Buffy’s eyes opened a bit wider, despite the blinding white light.

“You saved the world,” Willow sighed, soft and proud. “And you didn’t even need seven days.”

Buffy felt herself stand up straighter in response to the praise. This was all very, very weird. “I’m kinda struggling to see you, Wills. You think you could turn down the light show a bit?”

‘Oh, sorry!” Willow giggled, one hand covering her mouth like a little girl who’d just been caught stealing a cookie, and suddenly Buffy could see that she was, once again, in somebody’s living room. It looked disturbingly like it had been lifted from casa Summers circa 1996, back when Joyce curated her home like a gallery. Behind her, Buffy could feel a roaring fire, and in front of her was Willow, flanked on either side by Oz and Tara. They were sitting on the antique sofa it had practically killed Joyce to sell when she’d needed funds for the move to Sunnydale.

“I’m guessing The First is toast?” Buffy asked hopefully.

Willow grinned – eerily reminiscent of evil-Willow, despite the purer-than-pure outfit. “I’ve moved beyond good and evil now. It has no power here.”

Buffy plastered on her widest, fakest grin. Willow had definitely gone full cult-leader. It reminded her of Angel’s ex-PTB who’d wanted to become the new Goddess of Earth. “And the potentials are all still potentials? Or, you know, dead?”

Willow looked mildly distressed for a moment. Then Tara started nuzzling her neck and she cheered right up. It wasn’t overtly sexual enough for Buffy to feel voyeuristic, but initiating public displays of affection hadn’t been normal for Tara. Oz still looked like Oz. Calmer, though, if that could even be a thing. He was holding Willow’s hand and rubbing little circles with his thumb. Buffy felt a sudden, alien, urge to jump onto the comfort-Willow bandwagon; she even shuffled forward a few steps before she caught herself. 

Buffy had scoffed at Angel’s horror stories of people worshipping what’s-her-face against their wills. Where was Cordy’s blood when you needed it?

“The potentials?” she asked again. Buffy needed to get back to the past and fix this. Just as soon as she figured out what needed fixing. How in the hell had this happened to Willow? She’d always had control issues, sure, but megalomania and a personality cult just seemed beneath her.

“You don’t need to worry about the potentials,” Willow said, tearing herself away from stroking Tara’s hair. “They’re fine.”

“Great.” Buffy decided to try a different question. “So, uh, where are we?”

“Do you like it? I whipped it up just for you.” Willow looked pointedly at the walls, full of photos of Dawn and her family – just like the ones from Spike’s phone. Only Joyce was in them, too, cooing at her grandbabies. And aging. It looked really good on her.

Buffy was sure she remembered there being art on those walls a second ago. 

Then she noticed the sounds of someone clattering dishes in another room. And laughter. Her mother’s laughter. “I – I saved Mom?” Buffy didn’t know if her heart was breaking or mending, but whichever it was, suddenly she was kneeling on the polished wooden floor and staring up at Willow.

“Oh, no,” Willow said sadly. “No. I brought her back for you.”

Buffy shivered, despite the burning heat at her back. “Seriously, Willow. Where are we?”

Willow waved a pattern with her fingers, and suddenly Oz and Tara were gone, like she’d removed Buffy’s Oz-and-Tara privileges. “Don’t you like it here?” Her voice was sharper now, scolding.

Buffy shook her head, unable to speak. Her body was telling her that Willow was unhappy, and an unhappy Willow was not an okay option.

Another wave of Willow’s hand and the living room fell to nothingness around them until they were just hanging out in a void. Buffy looked down into the bottomless well of darkness beneath her knees and tried not to gibber. She didn’t think she’d ever been so scared.

“Where would you rather be?” Willow asked brightly.

“Home,” Buffy pleaded. “I just want to go home.” It was a stupid thing to say. She hadn’t had anything more permanent than a duffel bag for years now, nor did she remember how to hope for better.

There was a stuttering lurch, as if the world were re-making itself around them, and then they were in Spike’s place in what used to be Copenhagen. Instead of the roaring fire and design-magazine decor there was thick, soft carpet that felt like it had lotion rubbed into it and his horrendously ugly couch that was so comfy you could sleep there for a week. But there were jarring notes, too. Buffy had never spent enough time here for signs of her presence to creep in, and yet her scythe hung on the wall behind Willow’s head, and her favourite leather jacket from before the war was lying casually across the back of the armchair. Distantly, Buffy could hear a shower running and someone that sounded an awful lot like Spike singing in it.

“You can stay here,” Willow said. “You’ll be warm and loved. You’ll be  _done_.”

Tears were running down Buffy’s face but she wasn’t sure if they were from terror or joy. Her emotions didn’t seem to be working properly anymore.

“Everyone you care about is alright,” Willow continued. “They’re all alright now.”

Buffy, still kneeling like some kind of supplicant, moved her hands to her pockets. She couldn’t feel anything in them. The prick of fear kept her aware and alert.

“Oh, you don’t need seeds here.” Willow paused. “Or bones.” She smiled, warm and beautiful and loving.

That’s when Buffy realised that the bowl was gone, and what that meant. She had no way of escaping, and cult-leader-Willow knew it. “Where is ‘here’?”

Willow shrugged. “Wherever I want it to be.” She sighed. “You’re very difficult to satisfy.”

“I’m really not. Please just tell me what’s going on?” Buffy looked around at Spike’s living room.  _T_ _heir_  living room, she supposed she should call it, because the walls had sprouted pictures now. There was one of her glaring at him – what he’d call ‘brassed off’ – that would definitely be his favourite if it actually existed. Willow knew Buffy well enough to build a perfect world just flawed enough for her to believe in it, if she let herself. That was the most frightening part.

Somewhere, Spike’s voice mangled a high note so badly it hurt.

“I know you miss him,” Willow said.

“Do I miss him like you miss Tara? And Oz?”

Willow looked stricken.

“Where’s Xander?” He would know what to do with this Willow. Buffy sure didn’t.

Willow’s face crumpled. “I only wanted you to be happy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, finally starting to feel more in control of herself. “If you’d really wanted me to be happy, you would’ve let me think this was real.” Which was terrifying all by itself, for so many reasons.

The apartment fell away, leaving in its wake a dingy room with no windows or doors, bare of furniture. Willow’s pure white robe morphed into a washed-out grey shift dress, and the circlet disappeared. Because of course Willow would need a place to punish herself, when she wasn’t playing make-believe with dead people. “Are we in your mind?” Buffy asked. “Is that what this is?” She remembered the mental smack upside the head Willow had delivered to her when Glory took Dawn and Buffy had been incapacitated by guilt. She could probably handle returning that favour. With interest.

Willow shrugged, twisting her fingers together like she used to do when they were sixteen and she had to tell someone something they wouldn’t want to hear. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to explain things to someone else.”

“Try.”

“I was so angry,” Willow whispered. There was an overlay to her voice when she said ‘angry’, like a buzzing horde of malevolence that just kept going.

“My god,” Buffy breathed, understanding slowly dawning.

“And then everyone was gone.” The buzzing stopped, but the ensuing silence seemed louder, somehow. Then came the sound of rain falling outside the room. Buffy had a sneaking suspicion that meant Willow was crying.

“You scorched the earth with Proser-whatsit’s curse, didn’t you?” Despite herself, Buffy took a step back. Everyone was dead.  _Everyone._  No wonder The First Evil had no power here. Willow practically was The First Evil. 

Willow flinched away from her. “You need to fix it.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” Buffy was horrified – even more so once she realised she, herself, was nothing more than an echo in this reality.

“I tried to go back so many times,” Willow said softly. “But I couldn’t change it. No matter what I did.” 

Buffy tried to remain calm. Xander was the expert on wrangling world-icidal Willow, not her. Maybe something had happened to him? That had to be it. Okay, she just had to rescue Xander. That was probably manageable. She was used to playing hero to his damsel. “Can you still send me back?”

Willow nodded eagerly. “That’s why I brought you here.” She looked down at her feet. “I got kinda overexcited about having company.”

Buffy wanted to say something about being company in a world where Willow had murdered every single living thing, but she had no idea where to start on the whys and wherefores of that wrongness. She opted for practical questions instead. “What do I need to change?”

“Will you believe me if I tell you?” Wind howled outside the room and the rain beat down harder and louder.

“Drama-queen much?” Buffy muttered. At Willow’s wounded look, she added, “You never used to be so self-indulgent.”

“I don’t deserve to be saved,” Willow said very quietly, hunching her shoulders to make herself smaller. “Don’t you think I know that?” 

Buffy resisted the urge to slap that expression off her face, like she would’ve done with her Willow. “Okay. Sure. Make it all about you, why don’t you?”

Willow looked confused.

“No one’s called you on anything in twenty years, have they?” Buffy sighed. “All those people you murdered in your fit of grief? You can still save them.  _We_  can still save them. But you have to get back in the game, Wills.”

“I don’t think I can.”

Buffy suddenly remembered her Willow talking about looking into the future, seeing other universes. ‘I never wanted to end the world’, she’d said. 

“My Willow saw this.” Buffy grabbed onto Willow’s shoulders. “Did she tell you to bring me here?”

Willow made her best attempt at a poker face, but she hadn’t had to deal with a real person in decades and it showed.

“Of course she had a plan,” Buffy muttered, shoving Willow away from her. “She always has a plan! She just didn’t bother telling me.”

“She said you could fix what we couldn’t.” Willow looked absolutely terrified.

Suddenly, Buffy had had enough. “God, Willow, snap out of it! I get you’re guilty. And you should be. Just … just send me back.”

The floor roiled beneath them and the walls started shaking. It felt like an earthquake.

“I trust you,” Buffy said. Willow made a single, tentative step towards her, and it took everything Buffy had not to flinch away. “I trust you to make it so you didn’t do this.”

Willow put her hands lightly on either side of Buffy’s head and spoke the words of power.


	13. 2001

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“A time traveller.”

“A time traveller who?”

“Knock knock.”

“No, I still don’t get it.” – _Oz and Xander, autumn 2001_

 

Since Willow was driving, Buffy had no idea when she was in her past or what she was supposed to do there. She thought it might be the day Warren showed up in the backyard with a gun, given how many future-Willows had mentioned it now. But that was a pretty big event to change, and Xander had done all the heavy lifting. Wherever she was, for the first time Buffy was going in completely cold and she didn’t much like it.

Sadly, despite the new, bowl-less spell, the nausea was exactly the same. Buffy staggered out of bed and towards the bathroom without bothering to open her eyes, which was how she ended up walking straight into a wall. Rubbing her nose and hoping she had a few dry heaves left before things got messy, she saw that she was in her mother’s old room. The pain of losing Joyce hit her all over again, even though she’d tried so hard not to hope. Then Buffy really had to run for the bathroom.

To her shock, it wasn’t long before she felt her hair being pulled back into a loose bun and a cool cloth laid across the back of her neck. For an all-too-brief moment, she wondered if she’d got it wrong somehow and her mother was alive after all. Then Buffy recognised the knees a few inches away from her face.

In all her life, she’d never imagined Spike like this: pink cut-off UC Sunnydale sweat-shorts – around which Buffy could see _everything_ from this angle – paired with a vaguely familiar bright blue t-shirt. Buffy checked her own clothes out bemusedly: a tank top washed grey and semi-translucent and fuzzy plaid trousers she’d had since grunge was cool. They’d never tried the kind of relationship that involved pyjamas before, but then again she couldn’t swear Spike had actually been in the bed with her … maybe he was around for some other reason? Like an imminent apocalypse. Or kitten poker debts.

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy watched him slide down the wall and onto the floor, zombie-like. He held a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of mouthwash in the other, and put them both down next to her before giving her a half-hearted pat and leaning back and letting his eyes close the rest of the way. A few seconds later, Spike’s left hand closed around her ankle like it had a mind of its own. By the time Buffy was ready to risk a sip of water, he was very obviously asleep again.

She wondered how often she’d been sick or hurt in this new past of hers. She didn’t think her Spike could have managed this level of care before his brain fully kicked into gear – certainly not before his mouth was up and running. But then they’d never lived together as a couple, so maybe he’d just never had the opportunity to learn how.

Finally feeling human and minty-fresh, Buffy prodded Spike’s knee until he jerked awake, blinking sleepily at her.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Feelin’ better?” he rumbled.

Buffy nodded. “Much.”

Spike noticed his hand was still clasped around her ankle and snatched it away like he was on fire.

She sighed. Of course things between them were complicated. Starting a year earlier and without heaven as the driving force was hardly going to make everything all sweetness and light. But that wasn’t, at this moment, Buffy’s highest priority. “Is Dawn okay?” she asked, holding her breath for the answer.

Spike frowned muzzily and blinked a few times. “Left for school on time.”

Buffy grinned so hard her face ached, suddenly filled to bursting with joy. She’d done it. Whatever she’d changed, both she and Dawn survived Glory. Overcome with relief and general exuberance, she practically launched herself into Spike’s lap and kissed him. After a brief pause, he kissed her back like it was going out of fashion, and Buffy let herself forget about everything else. But as his t-shirt went airborne, she couldn’t stop herself from asking again: “Dawn’s really okay?”

Spike stopped and pulled back, staring searchingly into her eyes. Then, still clumsy with sleep, he stood up, pulling Buffy with him, and led her into Dawn’s room. The unmade bed and week’s worth of half-drunk cups of coffee were familiar and comforting, if kinda gross. There was also the lingering scent of a chemically-floral body spray Buffy only now remembered Dawn used to drench herself in as a teenager. She really was alive.

Spike gave Buffy’s hand a squeeze before letting it go. “Made sure you remembered Ben Wilkinson needed to die an’ all.”

If he’d been more awake, Buffy suspected he would’ve winked at her. She moved in to kiss him again, but he turned away. Then he ran his hand lightly down her arm and ghosted over her temple with his lips – too insubstantial even to be called a kiss. “Got rules ‘bout that.”

Buffy’s smile froze on her face, before slipping into a grimace. Sometimes, a boyfriend could be too faithful.

“‘Sides, we fight enough as it is,” he added with a crooked smile.

An ice-cold shiver ran down Buffy’s spine: his chip should still work on her in this timeline. They’d had some brutal fights – and going by Spike’s skittishness this morning, they still did. Even though he’d always retaliated with words more often than fists, at least back then it was his choice. “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure what else to say.

Spike had to have seen some of her fear, because he took both her hands in his and said, “Don’t be.” His eyes twinkled. “I’m embarrassed by my riches.”

She cleared her throat. “Could you maybe, um, just remind me what happened with Glory?”

It turned out that, despite Buffy’s warning, no one had been able to kill Ben and bypass the apocalypse, and very little leading up to the final battle had changed. Spike still got tortured, Tara mind-sucked, Dawn snatched so Willow had to rescue Buffy from her own head, and they all still went after Glory at the base of her tower. The big difference this time was that Anyanka teleported Dawn off the tower to Arashmaharr as soon as they saw her up there, so the portal never opened and no one needed to jump. Only vengeance demons weren’t supposed to send unaccompanied teenaged girls to Arashmaharr, and now Anyanka was being punished with humanity and not very happy about it. Buffy felt humbled by the sacrifice, even if it had been unintentional.

“But I definitely didn’t die?” She had to ask.

“No!” Spike’s eyes went wild, and for the first time that morning he looked wide awake. Buffy wondered if past-her realised quite how terrified he was of losing her.

She took a moment to focus on her body, re-connect with it. The depression didn’t feel as heavy as just after heaven or when she’d met evil-Willow, but it was definitely there. Past-her was coping right now, but only just. Buffy opened her eyes and stroked Spike’s face. Platonically. Definitely platonically. “You take such good care of me.”

“You let me,” he replied softly, leaning into her hand.

She decided Spike needed to put on a shirt and find something less revealing for his lower half, or Buffy was not going to behave herself. Given the ultimatum, he laughingly opted to go back to bed. ‘Our bed’, he called it, although a quick snoop through the drawers and closet revealed he only kept a couple changes of clothes there. Also, past-her had _way_ racier lingerie than Buffy remembered.

She was in awe of how casual he was about it all. She couldn’t even imagine her Spike sleeping in her bed in Sunnydale, let alone using any of the things she found in ‘their’ bedside table. But this Spike was obviously an established part of the household, and past-her was already hitting more relationship milestones than Buffy had managed in twice as many years.

Clean and dressed and drinking her second cup of coffee, Buffy finally noticed the calendar in the kitchen. To her shock, it showed November, not May. It made Buffy feel slightly better about being depressed, but even more lost when it came to what she was supposed to be doing. Whatever it was, though, it centred on Willow. It was time to call her.

 

-∞-

 

The Espresso Pump looked faintly Halloween-y, which made this particular day seem even stranger as a choice. Willow shouldn’t even start going off the rails until nearer the end of the month.

But then again, Buffy had arrived first. And unless someone was dead or dying, Willow was always early, so something was definitely wrong. As soon as she saw Willow’s too-pale face and bright, brittle smile, Buffy knew it was bad. She bought hot chocolates and double fudge brownies for both of them. Thankfully, whatever her money troubles were right now, there was enough in her wallet for that much.

“Now spill,” Buffy said firmly. Willow looked dubious, so she added, “Today’s a good day. Whatever it is, I can take it.”

Willow ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry, we’ve all been trying not to lean on you too much.”

“And I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that,” Buffy said earnestly. “But look: I’m wearing makeup and nice-smelling clothes and my teeth are super-clean. I might not get out of bed tomorrow, but here,” Buffy proffered her shoulder. “Lean, cry, whatever you need. For today, my shoulder is yours.”

Willow smiled, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Then she took a deep breath and said, “Oz and Tenzin are trying for a baby.”

Buffy blinked. The Tenzin Osbourne she knew had never seen California, let alone Sunnydale. And besides which, “Since when does she even like kids?”

“I know!” Willow wailed.

As she ranted, Buffy slowly worked out what was going on. Willow was poly, and had been dating Oz _and_ Tara ever since Oz came back from Tibet. Then Tenzin followed Oz to Sunnydale, so now Oz was dating her and Willow, which apparently had been a Good Thing for everyone, because Oz had really struggled with sharing before. Only now, while Willow adored the idea of being an auntie, she was terrified Tenzin would convince Oz to be monogamous if there were kids involved – or worse, that Oz would want that himself. Buffy had no idea how to be comforting in this situation, particularly when she still had her own memories of Oz and Tenzin’s (childfree) twentieth wedding anniversary a few weeks before they both died. So she just kept feeding Willow chocolate and telling her she was amazing and Oz would be crazy not to want to be with her. So far so good.

Then Willow brought up Tara, which at least was more familiar ground. But Buffy was pretty sure the ‘stupid thing’ the two of them were arguing about was the early stages of Willow’s magic problem. Was that what she was here to fix? It was an awfully tall order for just one day. Buffy ended up giving Willow the same advice she’d given her when Riley left: “You know that if a relationship fails, it doesn’t mean you’re a failure, right?”

Willow stopped short. Then she looked slyly towards Buffy and said, “And just because you fight, it doesn’t mean the relationship is over?”

Well if that wasn’t the Willow stamp of approval for Spike, Buffy didn’t know what was. She shrugged. “I have this crazy-smart friend who tells me these things.”

“Thanks. Really!” Willow’s face fell. “It’s just, I’m trying not to make this all about me. But….”

“You kinda still want it to be all about you?”

Willow nodded miserably.

“Just promise me, no ‘my will be done’ spell.” Buffy panicked as soon as she said it. Had that even happened?

Willow winced. “Have I mentioned that I’m sorry?”

“Not lately,” Buffy sighed, relieved. “But honestly? Having my thoughts and feelings changed without me even being aware of it? Still in my top five most frightening experiences.”

Willow’s distress deepened. “Really, Buffy, I’m so sorry—”

She stood up and walked around the table to give Willow a hug. “You are my best friend and I love you. There is nothing you can do that’s terrible enough to change that.”

While Buffy was coming back around the table to sit down again, Willow started to cry. “I think I’ve done something pretty terrible,” she whispered

Haltingly, Willow revealed she had messed with Tara’s mind – made her forget an argument. An argument that Willow still refused to talk about in detail. For a brief moment, Buffy reconsidered her words. But magically manipulating Tara was hardly the worst thing Willow had ever done, so Buffy figured she could roll with it.

“I just … I don’t know how to fix it. I made this big mistake and I – I really, really need to fix it.”

“What do you mean ‘fix it’?” Buffy asked gently.

Willow’s shoulders twitched. “We shouldn’t be fighting. It’s stupid.”

“So you fixed Tara?”

“No!” Willow cried, horrified. “Tara’s perfect as she is.”

Buffy stared down at her hands. Past-her had let her nails get ragged, which was never a good sign. She looked back up at Willow. “Look, do you want to come stay with me for a while? Give yourself some space from your love life?” She smiled. “You can say it’s because I need help –it’s not like I don’t.”

“Maybe,” Willow said slowly. She met Buffy’s eyes. “You know, just before you called, I was thinking there was nothing I could do. That everything was spinning out of control and I’d never be able to make it okay again.”

“I know that feeling. Intimately.” Internally, Buffy rolled her eyes. Willow really had sent her back to her very own ‘putting the book on the shelf’ moment. “But it’s not your job to keep the world turning.” Buffy paused. “And sometimes, you just need to snap out of it.”

Willow smiled weakly, immediately getting the reference – it was only a few months ago for her, after all. “You don’t hate me?”

“Of course I don’t hate you.” Buffy frowned. “Tara might, but I don’t.”

Willow made a face. “If I come over, can I bake?”

“Only if you bring your own ingredients. I have no idea what’s in the cupboard.”

Willow blanched. “You haven’t been letting Spike and Dawn cook together again, have you?”

“Um, no?”

“C’mon. I’ll buy us groceries and rescue your poor, poor kitchen.”

 

-∞-

 

Willow cleared out all of the independent civilizations growing in their fridge, complete with narrating their reactions to bleach and how the germs would explain the tragedy to any survivors. Then she baked a lot of cookies, while Buffy taste-tested and called it helping. It was all done without magic, although Buffy didn’t believe for a second that meant anything. Guilt-cookies made with magic would have been cheating, and Willow failed to mention any plans to tell Tara what she’d done.

When Dawn came home from school, Buffy hugged her breathless and told her she loved her. Even though Dawn half-heartedly swatted her away, no one seemed particularly surprised by it, which relaxed another knot in Buffy’s heart. Past-her might be depressed, but she wasn’t pushing everyone away. Or at least, they weren’t letting her.

Spike came downstairs (fully dressed, thankfully) just as Willow started making dinner, and Buffy watched their byplay. It paralleled original-Willow’s relationship with Anya: they didn’t seem to like each other much, but for Buffy’s sake they were willing to work at it. Then Spike whisked Dawn away to do something PG-13-nefarious, and Buffy went back to her cajoling. But Willow still wouldn’t admit to what she and Tara were fighting about.

She was more than willing, however, to deflect with all the reasons Buffy and Spike were fighting. The most recent – and cause of the earlier twitchiness – was that he’d been begging favours from all her friends over the last few weeks. Then yesterday, Buffy overheard him telling Dawn that if she wanted to get someone on her side, offering something for free would make them resentful and mistrustful. But if she buttered them up, then made herself vulnerable and asked for help, they’d be eating right out of her hand. Buffy immediately accused Spike of gross manipulation, and he’d blown up in response, saying she only looked for the bad in him. But he’d also failed utterly to explain his actions. Willow didn’t say whether they were physically fighting or not, but whatever they were doing they must have a system for doing it away from the house, because Dawn would never be so relaxed otherwise. She really, really didn’t like yelling. Buffy hadn’t expected their relationship to be perfect, but she felt less jealous of herself now she knew what she and Spike were working through.

As the four of them were sitting down to dinner, Xander and Jesse showed up with a stack of DVDs, booze, and ice cream. It turned out that Xander was the reason Jesse and Amy split up. Which explained a lot, but it did make Buffy wonder about her Xander. They’d come over to hide because one of their neighbours found out they weren’t just roommates and was getting nasty about it. Spike was bizarrely sympathetic, which made Buffy suspect mean neighbours weren’t the worst that had happened to them.

Willow dubbed it an official reunion party for the four musketeers, and Buffy wanted to smack her younger self for being so certain nothing like this would ever be possible. She had fun. Despite all the darkness and complications, she had fun.

And when Xander and Jesse went home and Willow went to bed in Buffy’s old room, Buffy got to fall asleep in the completely, one hundred percent platonic embrace of her almost sort of boyfriend. Which was great. Amazing, even. Repeating _he’s got a banana in his pocket_ over and over had to start working at some point, right?


	14. Six

“I used to be addicted to time travel…. But now that’s all in the past.” –  _Buffy to Willow, spring 2023_

Buffy could feel she was lying on something soft, which was an awesome change she wished she’d thought of before. It didn’t help the pain any, but at least staying upright was no longer an issue. Even better, a glass of water was quickly pressed to her lips, and she drank gratefully. When her eyes fluttered open like some fairy tale princess, there was Willow. She was darker than indifferent-Willow, but brighter than Buffy’s Willow, and healthier than junky-Willow. She was definitely saner than unmake-the-world Willow. She also had a nose ring, which Buffy found oddly jarring.

They were in a mid-range hotel room with a strong peach theme going on, furnished with twin double beds. Buffy was lying on one of them, propped up to almost-sitting by pillows, and Willow was standing next to her. The bowl was back and sitting on the bedside table, right next to the water glass like it was all completely normal.

“Hey,” Buffy croaked.

Willow’s smile lit up her whole body. “Hey, Time Traveller. How’re you holding up?”

Buffy blinked owlishly. “Am I gonna go crazy from lack of sleep sometime soon? It’s been six days now.”

Willow laughed. “None of your bodies have actually lost any sleep, so I think you’re safe.” She paused, concern flooding her face. “Do you need a break? I mean, this has got to be pretty intense for you.”

It was the first time anyone had asked, so Buffy thought about it. Her brain hurt almost as much as her body, but she wasn’t at all sleepy. She shifted the pillows around so she was sitting upright against the headboard. “Only one more to go. I think I can take it.”

Willow gave her a look, like she didn’t trust Buffy to know her own limits. “Sleeping isn’t cheating, you know.”

Buffy picked up the glass and took another sip of water. “Where are we?”

“The Holiday Inn Express in Woking,” Willow said. Then added, “England.”

“Where?”

“Woking’s famous for being one of the places the Martians landed in  _War of the Worlds_.” Willow paused. “Tom Cruise made a movie?”

Buffy nodded sagely. That sounded almost familiar.

“There’s this sculpture of a Martian—” Willow stopped herself. “That’s not actually what you want to know, is it?”

Buffy smiled weakly. “Good old Wills. Reading my mind since 2001.”

Willow’s expression faltered.

“We really are in Waking, though, right?”

“Woking.”

“Whatever. But the world’s still here? This isn’t all in your head or anything?”

“Nope,” Willow said brightly. “I would never pick this colour scheme.” When Buffy didn’t laugh she sobered, asking, “What’s changed?”

“Well, the version of you who started this thing told another version of you – the one who destroyed the world – to kidnap me so we could fix it.”

Willow sat down abruptly on the other bed, distinctly rattled.

“Did you do that, too?”

“No,” Willow said thoughtfully, gears clearly turning.

Buffy shivered. “Then I think we’re good.” She raised her glass in a salute before taking a sip.

“Has every trip back to the present been like that for you?”

Buffy sighed. “The hardest one was when you were dead because of something I changed.” 

Willow recoiled, but not entirely unsympathetically.

“Although the two where I was dead come a pretty close second.” Buffy stared at her for a few seconds before carefully placing the glass back on the bedside table. “Do you think maybe there could be hugging now?” Despite all the hugs she’d shared with the past-Willows, it hadn’t felt right to try with the ones in the future. Not until now.

Willow immediately flung herself across the space between the beds and onto Buffy. It was fierce and passionate and everything Buffy lost when she and her Willow stopped being close. “I’ve missed you so much,” Buffy said. All these trips to the past had forced her to remember why she and Willow had been best friends; she’d forgotten how good it could be.

“I’m so sorry you had to,” Willow said, squeezing harder. She leaned back a little so they could look at each other. “I take it our relationship wasn’t all hearts and flowers when this thing started?”

“It was complicated.” Buffy frowned. “Do you remember anything? From the original past I mean.”

“Glimpses. Sorta.” Willow made a face, then shuffled around to sit cross-legged on the bed. “Tell me about it?”

So Buffy told her about all the things they’d done to each other in their original past, and how a once-strong friendship had slowly broken down over years – the death of a thousand cuts – until the war forced them to work together again. It was cathartic talking about it to a Willow who hadn’t been there; Buffy even found empathy for her Willow’s side of the story.

“But I wasn’t evil, right?”

“Not that you, no.”

“Another me was?”

Buffy nodded. “That was the present where it was my fault the world was ending.”

“Oh, Buffy,” Willow said, giving her another hug. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. Tell me about the war?”

So she did. Willow was crying by the end of it, and Buffy wasn’t far off. Mourning together was also cathartic – their relationship had just been too fractured before. But this Willow understood who they’d lost, and Buffy was able to truly share her grief for the first time. She felt lighter, after, than she had in years.

“None of that’s happening here yet,” Willow said. “But someone in Devon had a vision – she saw a lot of what you described. It’s why I sent you back.” She sighed. “But there haven’t been such dramatic changes in this timeline.” Willow frowned. “Although, maybe it really is just you that can do it, and all the other dimensions’ Buffies are just as helpless as the rest of us.” 

“So now I’m the one girl in all the parallel worlds, too?” Buffy whined.

“If the shoe fits.” Willow shrugged. “But even you couldn’t change the one thing we really needed.”

“What was that?”

“You were supposed to save yourself from the Master – or at least not be brought back to life by Xander. It was the whole two-slayers thing that gave The First all its power.”

Buffy frowned. “But I thought … you and Giles always said it was my resurrection.”

“Resu-how much?”

“In my original past, I died fighting Glory, and you brought me back.”

Willow turned chalk white. “Please tell me I didn’t rip you out of heaven.”

“Yeah, but that’s not important,” Buffy said quickly, shocking herself by how true it was now. “We thought  _that_  was what gave The First its power.”

“And you changed it,” Willow said slowly. “But The First still came.” She stared off into the distance, thinking. “It was Beljoxa’s Eye who told us that.”

“The demon prophet!” Buffy nodded excitedly. “Yes. That’s who told us, too.”

“Well, that makes your next trip an easy decision.”

“Okay,” Buffy said slowly. “Only, what am I supposed to do once I get there?”

“Confront the Eye?”

Buffy gave her a dubious look. “Which gets us what?”

“If I knew that, you wouldn’t need to go back to the past to change it!”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “The Eye only explained the past. Badly. But I need to stop you from activating all the potentials, right?”

Willow nodded. “That’s what caused your war, and the one that’s brewing here.”

“You told me a second slayer wasn’t a problem, tipping-the-balance-wise.” Buffy frowned, trying to remember exactly what junkie-Willow said.

“CPR has been around a lot longer than you….”

“So how many slayers is too many?”

Willow sighed. “You’re getting caught up in the details. You can’t go at it directly – otherwise time will just flow around you.”

Buffy groaned. “Will I even be able to talk about spells with you in January? I mean, um…,” she trailed off awkwardly.

“How messed up was I back then?” Willow smiled weakly. “Very.”

“Who did Warren shoot?” Buffy asked softly.

“Just you,” Willow replied. “Spike was watching from the kitchen window, but it was the middle of the afternoon, so he called me and—” She took a breath. “It was the car accident that did all the damage.”

“Huh?”

“After he shot you, Warren drove away. Xander was taking Oz and Tenzin somewhere – to pick up a crib maybe? – and Warren T-boned the car. Tenzin was almost seven months pregnant with Kitsi, and she … Tenzin still had to give birth, even though….” Willow rubbed at her eyes. “I should be able to talk about it by now. She wasn’t even mine.”

“She was yours,” Buffy said. “We were just talking about how much you wanted to be an auntie.”

“That was you?” Willow let out a rueful laugh. “I should’ve known. You usually give terrible relationship advice, except for that one day when you said everything I needed to hear.”

Buffy still didn’t understand what she’d changed. “What happened?”

“Kitsi,” Willow’s voice wobbled, “was the only one who died, but everyone did time in the hospital after. Xander lost an eye. Oz broke his hip – if it weren’t for the wolfy thing, he’d have much worse than a permanent limp.” Willow’s eyes went dark, but not black. “Warren walked away with nothing but bruises.”

“Did you kill him?” Buffy kept her voice soft and non-judgemental.

Willow nodded ruefully. “And Rack. And then I tried to kill everyone else.”

“I remember.”

Willow stared at her knees. “Those things were always too big to change.”

“What stopped you?”

“Xander,” Willow said, forcing herself to smile. “Jesse too, sorta, because he got Xander to me. But Xander was the one who talked me down.”

Buffy gave up on trying to find the connection between her last trip and this future. She also decided not to tell Willow what had happened originally. She didn’t need to have Tara’s life at the cost of Kitsi’s on her conscience. “Are you still together?” Buffy asked. “You and Tara and Oz, I mean.”

Willow nodded, brightening. “Sorta part-time, but yeah. Tara and her wife moved out to New Mexico a few years ago – just outside Santa Fe. They have a break-even smallholding and do retreats. I, um,” Willow blushed, “I teleport there a lot.”

Buffy laughed.

“It’s a good way to burn off power when it builds up!” Willow said, defensive. “And Oz and Tenzin just moved back to Tibet – her mother’s got cancer, which has been hard on everyone.” Willow’s entire face went soft. “Rinchen – their oldest – is staying behind with me to finish her A levels.”

“Wow,” Buffy breathed. “I’m so happy for you.” Her Willow’s relationships had generally been with much younger women, and never for more than a few months. Buffy always figured she’d buried her heart with Tara.

“The whole gang still gets together for Thanksgiving most years; we take turns hosting. Us four musketeers plus Dawn and her family; Tara and Bronwen; Oz and Tenzin and their kids. Giles and Ahn only come when it’s my place, now – flying’s just too hard for him.”

Buffy shook her head, awed. “Do Xander and Jesse have kids? Xander had four, back when he was straight.”

“No, but they do a sort of waifs and strays thing. There’s usually at least a couple kids between fifteen and twenty-five living with them.”

“Am I going to remember dating girls when my memories catch up with me? I just … I’m starting to feel like I’m a little too straight for my friendship group.”

“None that you’ve told me about,” Willow replied, grinning. “But you never know. All those slayers in dormitories….” She winked.

“Thanks,” Buffy said drily. “Colour me relieved.”

“If it helps, so far as I know, Dawn’s a fully paid up member of the penis appreciation club.”

Buffy laughed. Then, more hesitantly, “Is she okay?”

“She’s great! But you don’t have to take my word for it. You wanna call her?”

Buffy thought about it for a few seconds, then shook her head. “It’d be too weird over the phone – what if I say the wrong thing or don’t know something she expects me to know?”

“Do you want me to tell you about her?”

Buffy’s eyes lit up. “Please.”

“Well, she’s in LA now.”

“With Michael and the twins?” Buffy asked hopefully.

“Of course.” Willow ginned. “They’re so cute. Oh! I have pictures.”

She passed her phone to Buffy, who hungrily scrolled through the photos of Dawn’s family – all the same faces and, more importantly, the same love she’d seen before. “Where’s Spike?” she asked, suddenly looking up.

“Oh, sweetie.” Willow’s face fell. “He died. I thought you knew.”

It was like taking a boot to the solar plexus. Suddenly Buffy couldn’t draw breath and her stomach was roiling. “When?” she gasped. “How?”

“Almost seven years ago, now.” Willow put her arms around Buffy, who was starting to shake. “You guys were closing down a baby Hellmouth in Indiana.”

The same way her Spike died. Buffy couldn’t speak.

Willow just held her, adding softly, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Did he know I loved him?” Buffy asked. Her Spike hadn’t. She’d said ‘I love you’ sometimes, and he knew she cared, but she’d always had one foot out the door. Towards the end, so had he.

Willow was suddenly trying very hard not to laugh. Buffy felt betrayed.

“Look at your left hand.”

Buffy was wearing a wedding band, plain brushed something silver-coloured. She hadn’t even noticed it.

“I’ll grant you, the first few years were rough, but by … 2005? Yeah, by then you guys were practically joined at the hip.”

Buffy wasn’t sure if that was supposed to make her feel better or worse. A lot of the pain of losing him was how much they’d left unsaid and undone. But the thought of Spike dying after they’d worked everything out…. “I should never have let myself hope,” she said quietly, not daring to ask about whether they’d lived together in Copenhagen. “He was here, one of the times I came back, and I thought it would be okay. That we’d be okay.”

“Hold onto that hope,” Willow said gently. “You can still change it.”

Buffy reached into her pocket, and found only one seed left. She wondered whether there was another Buffy, somewhere out there, who had chosen her own day to change in 2001. Maybe she’d saved her Spike. Or maybe Willow was right, and if Buffy didn’t save him no one could.

Willow got up off the bed and, after helping to rearrange the pillows so Buffy was in her original position, stood to one side. She gave Buffy a wide, encouraging smile, and wished her luck.

Buffy dropped the seed in the bowl.


	15. 2003

“The bartender says, ‘We don’t serve time travellers in here’. A time traveller walks into a bar….” – _Chloe to Eve, winter 2003_

 

Buffy had forgotten how much she hated sharing a bathroom with this many people – especially when they were mostly teenage girls. The long and pointed discussion outside the door about whether or not she was pregnant and the general nature of vampire sperm was something she really could have done without. But at least it prompted Xander to offer to take anyone who wanted out for coffee and a public restroom. Meanwhile, Jesse stood guard in the hallway, threatening anyone else who bothered Buffy with extra chores for the rest of the week. She could totally see them fostering teenagers.

On returning to her bedroom to get dressed, she found more than a few clues that Spike was no longer just an occasional overnight guest. An overlapping pattern of rugs lay on the floor; heavy velvet curtains hung over the black-out blinds; and a narrow wardrobe Buffy definitely didn’t recognise was filled with monochromatic men’s clothing plus one drawer full of socks in colours so bright they made her eyes water. There was also a set of chains and shackles bolted to the wall over the bed, which Buffy fervently hoped had more to do with The First than their sex life.

She tore herself away from snooping to find Dawn in the hallway, ready to list all the ways past-her’s newly minted ten-minute rule for bathroom time was a terrible idea. ‘I told you so’ figured heavily. Buffy hugged her sister anyway. She was a little shocked when Dawn nonchalantly hugged her back, mid-rant, like it wasn’t just normal but expected.

Then Jesse hugged her. Which, okay, old friend and all. But while Buffy was waiting for her all-important first cup of coffee to brew and marvelling at having actually slept in past eleven, she got even more hugs. First from Rona, who for the last twenty years had made Faith look like someone in desperate need of a twelve-step programme to dial down the hugging. And then – was that Tucker Wells? What the hell kind of bizarro timeline had she gotten herself into?

As various people drifted in and out of the kitchen for coffee and breakfast and _still more hugging_ , Buffy found out there were eight extra people currently living in her house. Six potentials on a combination of sofa cushions and airbeds downstairs and in Dawn’s room – including a bonus totally-not-The-First Chloe – plus Tucker with the cot in the basement. Number eight was Willow. It sounded like she’d been in and out of the guest room for the last year, but had settled there more permanently since coming back from England.

Oz and Tenzin definitely weren’t around – Buffy assumed they were somewhere un-Hellmouth-y, recuperating – and Tara was a ten-minute walk away in a big student house on Maple ‘because boundaries’. Jesse, Xander, Giles and Anyanka were mostly hanging around after dark for safety, then going home to their respective apartments at first light to sleep. That at least explained why Buffy had slept so late and was still so tired – she probably hadn’t managed more than four or five hours.

Sadly, Chloe’s personality didn’t seem that different from The First’s impersonation of it. After seeing the original Vampasaurus Rex kick Buffy’s ass but good, she had serious doubts about her own survival prospects and wasn’t shy about saying so. Plus it sounded like maybe Spike had done something to her while he was hypnotised. Buffy found it depressing. Even when they weren’t being actively turned against her, the potentials were still scared and uncertain.

 

-∞-

 

It wasn’t hard for Buffy to insert herself into Giles and Anyanka’s inter-dimensional visit to Beljoxa’s Eye. They’d blatantly been fighting about it and a neutral third party was beyond welcome. Then, when that demon butcher guy at the gate whimpered like a little kid at Buffy’s raised fist, Giles suddenly got downright cheery. Weird.

“God!” Anyanka shouted over the wind. “I hate this place!”

Buffy grabbed her shoulder and shouted, “What is it with you and this dimension?” Anyanka had been getting twitchier and twitchier the closer they got to the portal, and was now crossing over into traumatised territory.

She shook off Buffy’s hand. “What, the great gaping maw of darkness isn’t enough for you?”

Buffy shrugged, thinking back to Willow’s void. “At least there’s wind around us and earth beneath us.”

Anyanka looked suddenly ill.

“Where’s the Beljoxa’s Eye?” Giles asked, looking around.

“Here,” the voice of the Eye boomed, and the wind around them abruptly dropped away.

“Oh, hi!” Anyanka said casually, with the sort of smile Buffy’d used when she got caught breaking curfew. She promised herself she’d get this story out of Anyanka eventually or die trying.

The Eye started spouting some doom and gloom spiel about how The First ‘cannot be fought, and cannot be killed’, which Anyanka interrupted every few seconds to tell Giles there was no useful information here – all but begging him to leave. Then Giles asked about the slayer line, and the Eye basically told them that because Buffy’d avoided her ordained trip to heaven back in 1997, The First got some kind of mystical power-up. Or something. Buffy was cheating on the interpretation, given Willow’d already told her what it meant.

Buffy glanced over at Giles, who looked physically sick, and suddenly she got it. The Eye’s original explanation had sent Willow and Anya and Xander into a tailspin of guilt: all the deaths of defenceless girls and idiotic men were their fault at a single stroke. Now it was Giles’ turn to take the blame, because he’d allowed Buffy to have friends and family and love in her life.

It was all such bullshit.

Buffy strode towards the Eye, arm drawn back to punch it right in its stupid eyes. But her fist went straight through, quickly followed by the rest of her body in an embarrassing tumble to the ground. She’d put way too much hip into that punch.

“Guess you caught me,” the Eye said. Then it morphed into Jenny Calendar. “And I would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for you meddling kids….” She laughed, a low chuckle that seemed to be some kind of dig at Giles, judging by his I-just-swallowed-a-lemon-full-of-razorblades expression.

“You don’t seem terribly disappointed,” he said darkly.

“I might’ve been, if you’d thought of this any earlier,” The-First-as-Jenny continued, “back when the old blowhard was still alive and could’ve told you how to defeat me.” She shrugged elegantly.

“Why bother feeding us all the baloney?” Anyanka asked.

“Did you lose your brains along with your demon powers?” The First sneered. “I hope she’s truly excellent in bed, Rupert. Really, I do.”

For the first time, Anyanka looked more annoyed than scared.

“You wanted us to think it was part of the prophecy,” Giles said slowly. “You wanted us to give up.”

The First morphed into sixteen-year-old Buffy, wearing the white dress she’d died in. She touched her nose, grinning, then pointed towards Giles with her other hand. “Prize to the gent in the stupid coat.” Relaxing her stance, she added, “Not like it matters. How can you possibly hope to defeat me?”

“By killing your minions,” Buffy replied. “What are you gonna do, talk us to death?”

There was a sudden flicker, as if The First was struggling to hold its form. Then, “Just for that, I think I’ll send a guest over to visit tonight. After the sun goes down. Try to make him feel welcome, won’t you? Before he rips you to pieces.” She grinned, Buffy at her young-and-wholesome-est. Then disappeared entirely, just in time for an atmospheric whine of wind to whip up again.

“Well!” Anya huffed as they filed back through the portal. “That was useless.”

“Nuh-uh,” Buffy said, grinning. “Don’t you get it? The First might be the brains of this operation, but take away its Bringers and its ubervamp? It’s nothing – a distraction. We’ve been focussing on the wrong things.”

“The Pergamum Codex is never wrong…,” Giles said softly. “You’re right. We need to research the minions.”

 

-∞-

 

This time around, Buffy wanted to tackle The First’s guest differently. The biggest change was bringing the potentials into her plans from the beginning, instead of tricking and terrifying them just to prove a point. So as soon as she got home from the alternate dimension, she gathered everyone together in the living room. Every single one of them – including her friends – shuffled in reluctantly, clearly dreading a speech. Was past-her still that pompous?

Buffy explained what had happened with the Eye, and how they were expecting the ubervamp to show up with a bunch of Bringers as soon as it got dark. “We need to put on a show for The First,” Buffy said. “And I need all of your help to do it.”

The girls sat up a little straighter.

Jesse grinned in anticipation. Or possibly at escaping a speech.

“W-what kind of show?” asked the disturbingly young one, who Buffy really hoped might not hang herself this time around.

“Something so it knows we’re not afraid, that we can beat its Chaka Khan.”

“Turok-Han,” Dawn interjected. Her facial expression added ‘not for the first time’. Loudly.

“But we _are_ afraid,” Chloe said disparagingly. “And if you couldn’t beat a Turok-Han, what chance have the rest of us got?”

“Look,” Buffy said seriously, “this is just what we do. I come across something new, and I get knocked down. Cue research party.”

“Is that where Giles and Ahn are now?” Xander asked.

“Yup. They’re working out its weaknesses.”

“What if it doesn’t have any?” Loud English Girl asked.

Buffy shrugged. “We create some.” She watched the potentials search her friends’ expressions and find smiles and nods. They started to show signs of cautious optimism.

“I think I know a way to test the Bringers’ magicks,” Willow said thoughtfully. She looked towards Tara and there was a rapid discussion of various types of magical shielding techniques, which Buffy absolutely could have followed if she’d wanted to. The upshot of it all was that The First and its minions would think they were breaking through a weak shield around the whole house, when really they’d be going through a maze of strength and skill tests while Tara and Willow built an unbreakable ‘inner’ shield covering just the basement. Once the Bringers and Turok-Han chased after everyone else, they’d expand that shield to cover the whole house.

Buffy grinned. “Perfect.”

Tara turned to Willow. “It should also help us shield you better.”

Willow stared down at her knees. “I’m not ready to be more than your battery. Not yet.”

“It’s too early for the really big guns,” Xander said loyally. “It’s not even apocalypse season.”

“There’s a season?” squeaked the young one.

Xander and Jesse immediately launched into tales of Big Bads past, and all the many times Buffy’d had her ass handed to her on a plate.

“Adam really threw her around like a rag doll?” Rona asked incredulously.

Xander and Jesse nodded gleefully.

But every story ended with Buffy calling in reinforcements, turning the tables, and winning the day.

“But then she turned a rocket into a bunch of birds with just a wave of her hand?”

“We all kinda did that part,” Willow said wistfully. “It was pretty amazing.”

The potentials got the message: Buffy losing a fight was not that big a deal. At least not in January.

There were still heckles from the peanut gallery as the plan came together – particularly from Chloe – but by the end they created something everyone had faith in. And the potentials saw the friendship, not just the fractures.

Before Buffy let them go, she had one more thing to add: “You came to me for protection. I can’t promise to keep any of you safe forever, but I can promise to keep you safe tonight. Anyone who wants to can stay behind the second set of shields with Tara and Willow.” Her expression turned serious. “There’s no shame in it.”

The very young one immediately opted to stay behind. Buffy thought Chloe might, too, but then Kennedy started talking about how scared she wasn’t and Chloe straightened her shoulders and jutted out her chin.

“I’m glad you decided to come, Chloe,” Buffy said, patting her on the shoulder.

“I’m Eve,” Eve snapped. She pointed at the very young one. “That’s Chloe.”

Chloe gave a little wave, looking even more terrified.

“I’m so sorry,” Buffy said, stricken. She swore to herself she would remember the dead ones’ names this time. She’d always owed them that.

And then it was time for Thunderdome. It was so long ago now, Buffy’d forgotten everything about the fight except the winning of it. She’d definitely forgotten quite how much power Willow sucked out of the Neander-vamps to activate the potentials, and only just managed not to whimper ‘ow’ when her first punch landed. It was not a pretty fight, and Buffy took a lot of blows to the head early on that she couldn’t really afford. But the tide finally turned when she broke off a crossbow bolt sticking out of the Turok-Han’s annoyingly indestructible heart and jabbed it through an eye. Without depth perception, its accuracy and follow-through went to pieces. It was still returning Buffy’s punches, but lacked anything like the force it started out with. And they both knew it. She was even able to get in a little showmanship at the end, grabbing a length of barbed wire and taking off its head.

Triumphant, bloody but unbowed, Buffy stared up at most of her first ever army. “Here endeth the lesson.” It was time to rescue Spike.

 

-∞-

 

Buffy stared out of the rear window of Tara’s car on their way home from the old Christmas tree lot. She and Spike were laid out across the back seat, curled around each other in a way she knew had to be hurting him and was rapidly making her limbs go to sleep. Buffy didn’t care. Somehow, seeing him chained to a wall with his chest all carved up had sent her straight back to that night in Jasper when she watched him die.

After cutting him free, she’d said, “I will always come for you. Always. You know that, right?”

“Tell me again?”

So she had, over and over, as they walked and then climbed out of the cave. Half his weight lying across her shoulders and their hips brushing together as they walked wasn’t enough contact. Buffy felt nothing ever would be.

“Always,” she whispered into his skin, clenching her hands even tighter around his.

The first time she’d rescued Spike from this place, she was relieved – of course she was – but back then she hadn’t known how to imagine a world without him in it. She’d even been annoyed at how weepy and clingy he’d been – although when he told her, later, how often The First had worn her face, she’d become a lot more sympathetic. Just now though, the only thought in Buffy’s head had been that Spike was alive and touchable in her arms. And she couldn’t stop touching. Eventually, he’d told her to ‘leave off the reunion bollocks’ until he was ‘properly rescued’. But for all that, his fingers dug bruises into her skin on their way out, and his face was just as wet as hers.

Buffy wasn’t surprised to find Anyanka waiting by her front door with the news that The First had taken a big hit and they could probably survive a few nights without chaining Spike up. It was pretty much what had happened last time, after all. The kicker was when instead of demanding they chain him up anyway, Anyanka outright yelled at Loud English Girl, who’d dared to suggest ‘better safe than sorry’.

While Buffy was busy picking her jaw up off the floor, Giles wandered in from the kitchen with the first aid kit and asked whether Spike wanted two pints of blood or three. Spike took it all in stride – just held up three fingers, then collapsed a little more against Buffy. She got the hint and started making for the stairs.

She paused halfway up as various young female voices got steadily shriller about the dangers of free-range Spike.

“Lock myself up if it’ll make ‘em feel safer,” he offered quietly.

“Spike couldn’t win a pillow fight right now!” Anyanka’s voice suddenly carried clearly and cleanly over all the others. Buffy winced; she really could out-shrill a fire alarm when she wanted to.

Spike, of course, immediately bristled with hurt pride.

“Or not,” Buffy said wryly, relieved and amazed she was no longer the only one willing to defend him. “Let’s get you into bed.”

As Buffy cleaned the dirt out of his wounds and bandaged up the ones likely to seep, it was plain his biggest problem was weeks of being kept half-starved and a general failure to heal. The lack of bruising everywhere but his face echoed that message. With every touch, Buffy kept expecting him to realise she wasn’t his Buffy and panic, push her away. Another impersonator too much for his already fragile grasp on reality. But he never gave any indication of distress, for which she was grateful. It was balm to her heart, going over every inch of his skin and doing what she could to sooth each hurt. And the longer Spike basked in her scent and her touch, the more his rigid muscles softened, until he lay loose and boneless beneath her.

He was only barely awake by the time Willow arrived with three large mugs of blood. She set them down, then sat on the edge of the bed and blithely swapped empty mugs for full until Spike downed the lot. As soon as he’d finished, he passed out, head in Buffy’s lap and the rest of him curled loosely around her.

“You didn’t get the joke,” Willow said thoughtfully, as she gathered up the mugs.

Buffy quirked a brow, confused.

“When Tara and I picked you up, I told you not to open up a vein without a spotter and an ambulance on speed dial. You said ‘pinky swear’, like I’d given you some kind of gift.”

Buffy’s heart stuttered to a standstill.

“I was expecting you to laugh.” Willow sounded apologetic.

“Because every time I’ve given Spike my blood, I’ve been fine.” It took everything Buffy had not to make that a question. In all their years together, she’d never shared more than a few drops, and always by accident during sex – a bitten lip, a scratched finger. It was one of the many things they’d never resolved. She wondered, suddenly, if she would have found signs of bite marks on her body if she hadn’t arrived six weeks after Spike’s kidnapping.

Willow nodded, then stared at Buffy in silence for several long seconds. “Is there anything you need to tell me?” Her voice was grave.

Buffy drew in a breath.

“Some … hint about the future, maybe?”

She knew. Somehow, Willow had figured it out. “I love you so much,” Buffy said, her eyes tearing up. “I know it’s hard for you right now, but you will get through it. And you’ll be amazing.”

Willow smiled, and Buffy realised it was the first genuine one she’d seen that day.

“And whatever you do – whatever we do – those girls have to choose,” she continued. “They’ve already lost their families and friends – their childhoods – on the off chance they might be the Slayer one day. We can’t take any more choices away from them.”

Willow nodded. “I can work with that.” She paused. “Can you tell me-”

“No,” Buffy said firmly. “I don’t know anything more about the future than you do.”

“Of course,” Willow said quickly.

“Just, could you remember Jasper, Indiana for me? I’ve got a, um, a sense that it’s going to be important in about fourteen years.”

“The Wood Capital of the World? Is there gonna be a furniture shortage or something?”

Buffy giggled. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. “No!”

Spike kicked out suddenly and violently, dreaming, and Willow scrambled off of her perch on the side of the bed.

“I’ll leave you to it.” A slightly more wicked smile appeared, no less genuine than the last. “I figure you deserve a break for at least a few hours. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”

“Thank you,” Buffy said. “For everything,”

“What are friends for?” Willow stepped in for a hug. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

Willow shut the door behind her with a soft click, and Buffy settled in for the luxury of uninterrupted snuggling. Revisiting her past had forced her to confront how starved for touch she’d become these last few years. Despite the almost unbearable sexual tension of her last trip back to the past, it had at least reminded her how good it felt to be held, and to hold someone in return. She just hoped tonight wasn’t the last time she ever got to experience it with Spike.


	16. Seven

"There once was a lady named Bright, who travelled much faster than light. She departed one day, in a relative way, and returned on the previous night." – _Spike to Buffy, autumn 2017_

 

When Buffy slammed back into her own body for the last time, the emotional shock was almost greater than the physical one. Because this was it: there were no more chances. Immediately, she was surrounded by the noises of people and movement, punctuated by the squalls of an unhappy small child. Buffy squeezed her fingers together to find the sharp edges of her wedding ring; its presence gave her the courage to open her eyes.

Not in a million years would she have guessed where she’d ended up. Shelves soared up on either side of her, high enough to need a ladder to reach the top. They were filled with breakfast cereal, of so many different shapes and sizes and colours it made Buffy dizzy. After years of scrounging for every meal, such a large, well-stocked grocery store felt almost frightening in its opulence.

A cart was in front of her, and she clutched a crumpled list in her right hand. Barely remembered habits kicked in quickly, and before she knew it she was scanning the list and checking it against what she already had.

Weetabix. Buffy was in this aisle for Weetabix.

Hope fluttered in her chest. But Spike was hardly the only one crazy enough to eat the stuff by choice. She patted herself down for a phone, which thankfully opened with a thumbprint. She thought about examining it for answers, but after so long without any, Buffy found she wanted to hold onto her hope a little longer. She hovered uncertainly over the names in her speed-dial. Anyone important to her had stayed in her last phone right up until it became an expensive paperweight, even though most of them were dead by then.

Willow answered on the second ring. Her ‘Hey!’ was reassuringly cheery.

“Hey!” Buffy replied, as brightly as she dared. “This might sound like a weird question, but do the seers in Devon still think we’re hurtling towards hell on earth?”

There was a long silence, and then: “ _Oh my god, it’s you,_ ” Willow breathed. “ _You totally just rocked up in a brand new present, didn’t you?”_

Buffy blinked. “Pretty much.”

 _“Well, you fixed it – whatever was wrong before, it isn't anymore._ ”

Buffy only just managed to stay upright by hanging onto her cart for dear life.

 _“There’s so much to tell you…._ ” Willow trailed off. “ _Where are you?_ ”

Buffy was momentarily thrown; she couldn’t even swear as to which country she was in. “Um, the grocery store?”

Willow laughed. “ _You know what? Trying to do this over the phone is crazy. Stay right there. I’ll come get you._ ” Then she hung up.

Buffy stared down at her phone for a few seconds before putting it back in her purse, which was a pretty cute crossbody, all things considered. It even matched her boots. In the absence of anything better to do, she found a box of Weetabix, put it in her cart, then went off to get the rest of the items from the list. Grocery shopping was by far the most surreal thing she’d done since Willow summoned her to that tent on Dawson Island what felt like a hundred years ago.

Having finished what felt suspiciously like a mid-week emergency shop, Buffy sat down on a bench outside the store and indulged in one of the peaches she’d just bought. It was a very long time since she’d eaten anything so frivolous as a peach. Her perch was sunny and warm, and if it weren’t for the giddy mixture of hope and fear keying her up, she might have seriously considered a nap. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to just sit and _be_.

“Buffy?”

That was not Willow’s voice. Buffy could feel tears pricking at her eyes even before she looked up to see Dawn standing right there in front of her, large as life and twice as beautiful. Buffy rubbed her sticky fingers against her jeans and stood up.

Dawn stepped forward and presented herself for a hug, her expression welcoming but guarded. It was awkward as all get out, but Buffy still clung to her sister unreservedly. She never wanted to let go.

“You look amazing,” Buffy said, voice soft with awe, because she really did. Dawn’s hair was cut in a super-short pixie, making her eyes look impossibly large, but also wise and grown up. Her body was softer, and her breasts had definitely gone up a cup size, which seriously? So unfair! She also seemed comfortable in her own skin like Buffy’s Dawn never got the chance to be.

Dawn reached out and brushed tears away from Buffy’s cheek. She hadn’t even realised she was crying.

“They said to be gentle. That I was dead where you came from.” Dawn pulled her into a second, more sincere, hug. “I’m sorry I died. That I wasn’t there for you.”

Buffy nearly choked, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “I’m pretty sure that’s my line.”

Dawn looked confused, but didn’t pull away. “It was bad where you were, huh?”

Buffy nodded, sniffling a little and annoyed with herself for it. She couldn’t even come up with a good one-liner about how epic the badness was that she’d left behind. This new, safer, world with its supermarket supply chains and C-cup-sister still felt too surreal and mirage-like for her to fully believe in it.

Dawn leaned back, cocking a hip and smirking. “They said you wouldn’t remember anything for a while. I figure you need me to keep you on the straight and narrow – make sure you don’t mess anything up too badly.”

Buffy put an elbow to Dawn’s ribs so gently it was more like a caress, making her giggle. It took everything Buffy had not to break down in great big ugly sobs of relief to hear it.

“But hey, charming as this parking lot is, don’t you wanna go home?”

“Home,” Buffy said. The word felt alien on her tongue, but exciting too. She paused. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Leiden, Holland.” Dawn started gathering up Buffy’s groceries. “Do you know it?”

Buffy nodded. Saado the Vampire Slayer had lived here, and Buffy taught her to ice skate a few weeks before the first skirmishes of the war sent them both to Cleveland, where Saado had died. Leiden was a good place: beautiful without being intimidating, and its buildings were covered in poetry. She could imagine herself living here.

Dawn stilled, suddenly serious. “Spike was dead where you came from. Wasn’t he?” Her expression gave nothing away, and for just a moment, the world held its breath.

“Yes.”

Dawn’s face split into a wide grin. “He is never gonna let this go. Buffy – well, you, I guess – figured you’d just split up.”

Buffy collapsed into a weird state of half-laughing, half-crying that was all the way hysterical. She knew she was making a fool of herself, but couldn’t make it stop. In that moment, all she wanted was to ignore everything and everyone else and just drag Dawn and Spike under a blanket and hold them there until she could blink and not be terrified she’d wake up alone again in the middle of a war. But hiding under a blanket was definitely on that list of nice things slayers couldn’t have.

Something about her hysteria seemed to reassure Dawn, who added, “He would’ve come himself, but….” She gestured at the blinding sunshine all around them and gave a nonchalant little half-shrug. “You wanna call?” She checked her watch and sucked in a breath through her teeth. “He’ll be climbing the walls by now.”

Buffy twisted her wedding ring around her finger. “I just want to see him. See _home_.”

Dawn linked her arm with Buffy’s, and guided her to the car. She felt solid and warm and real, and if Buffy could’ve done it without letting go, she would absolutely have danced for joy. She remembered what Spike said to her back in 2001, that he was embarrassed by his riches. She understood it now. Even if she hated every single other thing about her life, she had enough here and now to guarantee her happiness.

As they separated to get inside a europcar people-carrier nearly twice the size of every other car in the lot, Buffy asked, “So, um, how did Mom die?”

Dawn froze, keys in hand, looking uncertain for the first time. “Was she alive?”

Buffy shook her head. “Aneurysm. February eighteenth, 2001.”

“We got a little more time,” Dawn said slowly, her expression vacillating between disappointment and relief. “She died just before school started that year.”

“I tried,” Buffy said, strangling a sob before it could escape.

“Oh, no!” Dawn looked stricken. “I didn’t mean – six months is a lot. The cancer came back, and there was nothing the doctors could do. But we all knew what was happening. We could prepare. It was … God it was the worst thing ever, but we were together all the way through.” Dawn’s face crumpled a little. “It feels so wrong you not remembering any of it.”

Buffy could feel her muscles tightening as her body hunched in on itself.

Dawn seemed to swallow her own emotions, then stepped around the car to give Buffy another hug. “It’s not your fault,” she said, calmly and clearly in what sounded suspiciously like their mother’s voice.

Buffy slowly started to unclench.

“It was her time. That’s all.”

“When’d you get so mature?” Buffy muttered sullenly.

Dawn laughed. “Somewhere between the second and third kid.”

Buffy jerked out of her sister’s arms. “No.”

Dawn nodded gleefully. “Adèle is seven; Mia’s four; and Matteo-the-baby is almost two and not really a baby anymore. But you’re gonna have to stop stalling and actually get in the car if you ever want to meet them.”

Buffy wondered if she’d eventually forget her twin nieces from the other realities – it wasn’t like she’d known them. She’d wanted to, though. “Do they like me? Your kids?”

“Of course.” Dawn snorted. “You feed them candy and don’t enforce bedtime.”

Buffy got into the car. As Dawn navigated them away from the store and onto the road, she asked, “Who’s ‘they’? You know, the ones who said to be gentle with me?”

“Spike, mostly,” Dawn replied. “But the other you and Willow, too.” She paused, shaking her head. “It’s so weird seeing my sister when I’m talking to someone I’ve never really met.”

“I’m the same person,” Buffy said, almost pleading. It had never occurred to her that Dawn, or anyone else in this timeline, might have preferred to keep their own Buffy. “Nothing even changed until 1997.”

Dawn glanced away from the road long enough for a pointed ‘you’re an idiot’ look. “So you’ve only changed two thirds of your life, and all of mine, then.”

“Willow said that after a while, I might not even be able to tell the difference.”

“I know,” Dawn snapped. “She explained it to me in tiny words even Xander understood. It doesn’t make it any less weird right now, today.”

They drove for several minutes in uncomfortable silence.

“So how long have you guys known about me?”

Dawn sighed. “Six or seven years, maybe? Something happened in Indiana – I never got the full story – but when you got back, Spike and Willow spilled their time-travelling-Buffy beans.” She gave Buffy a look that viscerally reminded her of their mother, all-knowing with just the barest hint of condescension. “You were totally clueless – convinced they were playing some kind of practical joke.”

“Willow was right,” Buffy said mournfully. “My superpowers really are denial and rationalisation.”

Dawn laughed so hard she nearly crashed the car – Buffy had to grab the wheel so they didn’t die. And just like that, they were sisters again. As soon as they stopped screaming at each other, anyway.

Enjoying the newly-comfortable silence, Buffy stared out of the window. They drove past a poem she’d seen with Saado, one that stayed with her all through the war. A hundred lovers, sleeping forever. Then something about long red roads and a hundred crosses to remember them by. To Buffy it always evoked her army of slayers: girls, and later women, who had so much love to give, but were marching towards death in a world that mostly wouldn’t know or care. Just as Buffy was about to ask about the other slayers, the car slid into a parking space and stopped.

As soon as Dawn switched off the ignition, she looked across at Buffy with full-on guilt-face. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Who’s dead?”

Horrified, she cried out, “No one! Jeez!”

Buffy cocked her head expectantly.

Dawn took a deep breath. “There are a lot of people in your apartment. Willow knew you’d be coming back this week – something to do with spell residuals? I don’t really understand it. But the two of you kinda called everyone and invited them to stay until you showed up.”

“To stay with me in my apartment?” Buffy asked, voice shrill, brain immediately fixating on the hell that was sharing one bathroom between eight people who all used their own weight in hair product.

Dawn laughed, relaxing a little. “I think Willow might be, but you and Spike made the rest of us get airbnbs.” She frowned. “It’s just … my Buffy wanted to see everyone before she, um, ceased to exist.” Dawn’s face broke into the Summers classic fake smile. “So we figured, why not have a party?”

Buffy nodded. Suddenly, meeting her friends felt more daunting than exciting. It was finally hitting home that everyone she loved was gone. Or at least, gone from this timeline. Whoever she met once she walked into that apartment, she was stuck with them just as much as they were stuck with her. “Bring on the party,” she said. Not grimly at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem referenced is De Profundis by Federico Garcia Lorca. It can be found on the eastern wall of the Kamerlingh Onnes Gebouw, at the corner of the Langebrug and the Zonneveldstraat in Leiden, The Netherlands.


	17. Now

“So long, and thanks for all the fish.” – _Rinchen Tsering-Osbourne, aged three and five eighths, Thanksgiving 2007_

 

The first thing Buffy saw through the doorway of the apartment was her scythe, hanging from what looked like the only patch of wall not covered in bookshelves. Her tension immediately went down a notch – at least she’d recognise that part of herself in this new reality. Then, before the door was even all-the-way open, Willow pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. She looked older than the last Willow, but to Buffy’s guilty relief she’d lost the nose ring.

“I keep expecting you to be the one who looks different,” Willow said ruefully, holding Buffy’s shoulders at arm’s length and staring at her. “But of course it’s all of us who’ll have changed for you.”

“Welcome!” Tara called out from the arm of a hideously ugly couch. She’d grown uncomfortably thin, but her smile was genuine enough, if a little wary. There was no sign of a wife, but as Buffy looked around the room, she found only fellow Sunnydale survivors. Xander and Jesse were on the ugly couch with Tara, while Oz – blue-haired and grey-goateed – was alone on a loveseat only marginally less eye-wateringly awful. Giles and Anyanka were walking through a doorway from what looked like the kitchen.

Everyone except Willow, Giles, and Anyanka had a visible weapon in easy reach.

“Are all of you armed?” Buffy asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. She was seriously considering strangling whoever let Dawn get into a car alone with someone they trusted so little.

There was a loud clank as something dropped by Giles’ feet and was swiftly kicked under the loveseat. He blinked innocently and held out both hands to show they were empty.

“It’s okay,” Dawn said, both looking and sounding exhausted. “She’s not dangerous.” Then she took off for the kitchen with the groceries.

Other weapons were hastily put away, including several Buffy had missed, which was both worrying and reassuring. This world might be safer, but it wasn’t totally fangless.

“Told you,” Willow called out, smug and singsong. More conspiratorially, she added, “Some people were worried you might come back unhinged.”

“Or evil,” Oz said. He shrugged. “It happens.”

“Sure,” Buffy replied dubiously.

“I agree with Dawn,” Anyanka added breezily. “No stench of evil on you. And your eyes are far too placid and cow-like to be crazy.” The longer, darker, hair suited her – but more impressive was that she looked like Giles’ granddaughter instead of his wife. Plus bonus, Buffy now knew the source of the demon-y vibes.

Giles stepped forward and practically shoved Willow out of the way to take Buffy into his arms. His grin was so wide it seemed to reach out beyond his face, and the legion of lines and creases he’d gained made it clear he wore that expression a lot. Buffy couldn’t remember ever seeing him like this: not just uninhibited but joyful. “You and I must sit down with a recording device so you can tell me absolutely everything about your experiences.”

That certainly explained the joyful.

Anyanka met Buffy’s eyes over his shoulder. “We don’t hug,” she said primly.

Giles laughed, loud and boisterous. “But you and I make up for it.” He straightened, lifting Buffy very slightly off the floor and swinging her a quarter turn.

She kept him upright when that effort cost him his balance. His arms felt bird-thin and frighteningly fragile under her hands, despite the soft roundness to his face and torso. But it healed something in Buffy’s heart to see Giles so obviously happy.

“We don’t hate each other, though,” Anyanka added helpfully, gently prying Giles away from Buffy and guiding him onto the couch next to Xander. “Not anymore.”

Buffy relaxed a little. Maybe they’d finally get the chance to be friends this time around. She needed to make the most of anyone who might still be around in a hundred years, after all.

“Four musketeers forever!” Jesse yelled, and suddenly Buffy was in a three-way hug of war with him, Xander and Willow. Xander’s patch was on the wrong eye, and he’d embraced middle-aged spread with a vigour Buffy should have expected, really. But his arms were just as strong, and he was alive. She found herself tearing up again.

Buffy turned at the soft snick of a door opening, and there was Spike. She froze, and the world fell away until nothing existed but the two of them. She’d always thought that was something that only happened in movies. As they walked towards each other, Spike slowly opened his arms until his hands cupped her elbows, keeping an almost professional distance. It was what Buffy would have expected from Giles in their old life.

Spike stared into Buffy’s eyes, perfectly expressionless for a good few seconds. Then, “Thank you,” he said, quiet but gruff. “You’ve given me more’n I ever deserved.”

“I’m not her,” Buffy blurted.

“You pretty much will be,” Willow interjected, a sharp reminder of all the other people in the room. “Give it a few months, you’ll have our Buffy’s memories. Almost as good as when those monks made Dawn.”

“Tactful,” Dawn murmured, on her way back from the kitchen. Xander grinned.

“We hope,” Giles added, not unkindly. Then he shrugged. “A person is more than just their memories, after all.”

Spike leaned in to whisper in Buffy’s ear, “I’m not him either.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You okay with that?”

Buffy nodded, too quickly. He didn’t smell right, and she wondered if he felt like Dawn did – disturbed to be seeing and feeling his wife while talking to someone else entirely. She burrowed further into Spike’s arms anyway, closing the careful distance he’d put between them. She could handle weird and awkward and messy, just so long as she had someone to handle it with.

His fingers dug into her skin when he hugged her this time, just like they had when she’d rescued him twenty years ago yesterday. Overwhelmed, Buffy kept hold of his hand when they broke apart. To her surprise, he held on just as tightly.

“So what did you go back to stop?” Xander asked. “Permanently open portals to demon dimensions? Giant snake gods trying to eat the world?”

“Yup,” Buffy said, nodding. “Plus all the joys of an interdimensional war, minus any allies from the other dimensions.”

There was a moment of silence while they all digested that bit of information.

“Right,” Spike said softly. “Good job you sorted it all out then, innit?”

Buffy shifted from one foot to another, not quite sure what else to say.

“You must have questions,” Willow said brightly, moving into a semi-snuggle with Oz on the loveseat.

“Yeah,” Buffy said thoughtfully. “What was with all the hugging back in 2003?”

Dawn burst out laughing, rapidly followed by sniggers from Xander and Jesse.

“Tara’s brainchild,” Willow said proudly. They grinned at each other.

“It was a First-Evil-detector,” Tara explained. “Non-corporeal beings can’t hug.”

A smile spread slowly over Buffy’s face. “Only you would think to subvert The First with affection.”

Tara gave a little bow.

“How did you beat it?” Buffy asked, half-dreading the answer.

Nothing major had changed – just like with Glory. Although Jesse said that every last potential would’ve happily followed Buffy into fire by the time they got to the last battle. Spike’s grip tightened around her hand when she heard that; Buffy assumed she was crying again.

Willow’s description of Spike’s death closing the Hellmouth with Angel’s amulet was brief and unadorned. From the tension in the rest of the room, Buffy got the impression the other her hadn’t dealt with it at all well.

“Tell you ‘bout it later,” Spike whispered, squeezing her hand again.

Buffy nodded. She wasn’t super keen on discussing Spike’s soul in front of an audience. Or why she’d left him to die. “So, um, how many slayers are there?”

Willow initially looked confused by the question, but then, “Of course!” she exclaimed. “I would’ve activated every potential if you hadn’t warned me not to.”

Buffy tightened her grip on Spike’s hand.

“It’s fifty-seven now, isn’t it?” Willow looked around for confirmation.

“Last I heard was fifty-nine,” Jesse said. “They found those girls in….”

“Nigeria,” Giles supplied.

“You’re still finding new ones?” Buffy was shocked.

“We designed the spell so they had to make an informed choice,” Tara said. “Kinda like with the shadow puppets? Only minus all the force and trauma.”

“And something about using the scythe in the spell affected the line permanently,” Willow said, ever-so-slightly abashed. “Now when a slayer dies, her replacement can refuse.”

“But to make up for it, sometimes more than one gets called,” Xander added.

“So the number isn’t really fixed anymore,” Jesse finished. “Best we can figure, it never goes above sixty, but sometimes it’s less.”

That answered the question about how many slayers was too many. “Who died?” Buffy asked.

“Stop lookin’ for tragedy,” Spike chided. “You’ll remember ‘em all soon enough. An’ the guilt that goes with it.”

Dawn grabbed a singed and stained spiral-bound notebook off of one of the bookshelves and brought it to Buffy. “They’re all in there,” she said. “Bu– you started it after Chloe died.”

Buffy reluctantly let go of Spike’s hand to leaf through the book. She’d written the names and stories of all her potentials, followed by those of her sister slayers. And their deaths. Things she didn’t remember ever knowing were in there, like that Caridad snored like a foghorn, and Loud English Girl (Molly – of course she was!) played guitar. Near the end were a few stark, emotionless pages on Faith, dead last December. That hurt; Faith’s friendship had sustained Buffy through a lot. But it also made sense. It was only as her relationship with Willow deteriorated that Buffy’d sought Faith out in the first place.

The most disturbing thing, though, was the glut of blank pages. No Saado or Bobby or so many more amazing women Buffy had fought and laughed and grieved beside over the years. She promised herself she’d write down their stories before she forgot them. Giles could probably help with that. Buffy dragged herself away from the notebook. Spike was right; now wasn’t the time.

Dawn had phoned Michael while Buffy was reading. He and Tenzin were at the park with the kids, waiting for the all-clear. Listening to her talk to him, it was obvious Dawn was still struggling with it all. But most everyone else seemed blasé about their brand new Buffy, albeit a little reserved. Spike, she still wasn’t sure about.

Buffy restricted herself to gossip after that, which made everyone more comfortable. It turned out Thanksgiving reunions were still a thing, and this Giles was healthy enough to fly to America, although he did it less often since the only Scoobies who lived there now were Tara, Jesse and Xander. Like Michael, Tara’s wife Bronwen was still in the picture. She and Willow’s current girlfriend… Silky? – Buffy was certain there was a ‘ch’ or a ‘z’ hidden in there someplace – were out getting drunk. Apparently, Silky was new, and this was Bronwen’s version of the shovel talk.

It felt even more like a party once Michael and Tenzin came back with their tornado of little people, because most of them were too young to understand how and why Buffy was different. In addition to Dawn’s brood, there were four Tsering-Osbornes. Rinchen, who looked and sounded twenty-five but who Tenzin assured Buffy was only sixteen; her sister Pema, twelve; brother Sonam, eleven; and little Tashi, who solemnly described himself as ‘very nearly four’. Tenzin was about twenty pounds heavier than Buffy’d ever seen her, which was odd enough all on its own, but she was also goofy with the kids. Buffy never would have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes: the Tenzin she’d known made Oz look like a flailing squee-monster in comparison.

Michael, all six-foot-five of him with locs almost down to his waist, looked at Dawn and their children like they were his world. And Dawn seemed both stronger and lighter just by having them in the room. It made Buffy’s heart swell.

During the chaos of fitting thirteen people into a room designed for five, Buffy got the proud-parent highlight reels. Suitably phrased, of course, so none of the kids realised they were being introduced. Once that had settled down, Buffy found herself on the love seat with Willow, a wriggling Tashi starfished across their laps, engrossed in his tablet. Giles was holding court in the kitchen with Michael and the older kids – from the snippets Buffy overheard, it was child-appropriate Ripper shenanigans. Anyanka and Dawn were sprawled out on a nest of sofa cushions on the floor with a sleeping Matteo and drowsy Mia. Tara, Jesse and Xander were playing Go Fish with Adèle, who’d declared herself bored with the grownup conversations and in need of better entertainment. Spike was prowling the apartment, never quite settling into any one group, but clearly accepted and welcomed by them all. It made Buffy recognise the underlying tensions from her trip to 2001 – nothing compared to the original version of that year, but also nowhere near as easy as this.

She debated trying to have a semi-private conversation with Willow about what happened at the Hellmouth in Jasper, but Dawn definitely hadn’t known the whole story, and Buffy figured there was a reason for that. So she asked about the second-string Scoobies, instead. Amy, it turned out, was living a totally non-magical life near Albany, New York, and was in light-touch Facebook contact with Willow (and only Willow). Cordelia was dead, or at least ascended, so no change there. Wes had reclaimed his original death from the early noughties, sadly. Buffy would have liked to know the fair-to-middling-evil version. Oddly, Spike was the only one currently in touch with Angel, who was going through another decade of self-loathing and rats after the death of yet another person he’d cared for deeply. Buffy was just relieved he hadn’t killed himself this time.

Giles started to fade about the same time the younger kids got tired and cranky. The parents quickly gathered them up and took off for their airbnb – they were sharing to better exploit Rinchen as a babysitter. Then Anyanka very loudly and firmly declared she was hungry and unwilling to eat anything that came out of Buffy and Spike’s kitchen. But she whispered a surreptitious ‘thank you’ to Buffy as they left, gesturing towards Giles with her eyes. Buffy wondered if Anyanka’d done what her Willow did, and peeked at some of the alternate dimensions. Hopefully not including that very disturbing Vegas scenario.

Jesse and Xander looked ready to settle in for the evening, until Tara gently suggested the three of them should check out ‘that really great restaurant we saw yesterday’. It took some judicious eyebrow wiggling, but they eventually got the hint.

As the door shut behind them, Buffy said, “Tell me about Jasper.”

Spike was standing by the door next to Willow, who’d just kissed Tara goodbye. They looked at each other and then back at Buffy.

“You come across another version of me on your travels?” Spike asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, he came here,” Willow said. Then, frustrated, “I still don’t get how.”

Buffy was completely thrown. She couldn’t understand why _that_ Spike would care about her or her world.

Almost scolding, Willow added, “You really shouldn’t have been able to get into a timeline where you were dead.”

“Kinda happened twice,” Buffy said apologetically.

Willow blinked.

“Although one of them was a stitch-up between two versions of you, so….”

Willow and Spike looked at each other again.

“And since when are you two all buddy-buddy? You barely tolerated each other—”

“Twenty years ago!” Spike snapped, with a wave of his hand. “You think nothin’s changed since then?”

“Sorry.” It was another reminder that Buffy was the outsider now.

“I’ve spent a lot of time camping out in your spare room over the years,” Willow said kindly. She pursed her lips. “So long as he doesn’t wander around naked, we get on just fine.”

Spike rolled his eyes.

Buffy remembered something. “Did you used to steal my clothes to wear as pyjamas?”

He smirked. “Still do.”

Now Willow rolled her eyes.

“ _Why_?”

“Was an accident at first. Went downstairs for … somethin’. Dawn was home earlier’n usual an’ saw all my bits.” He grinned in fond memory. “You went ballistic. Grabbed the first thing out the laundry basket, which ended up bein’ yours….”

“No!” Buffy felt her skin burning, just imagining it.

“Laid down the law ‘bout wanderin’ ‘round naked durin’ people hours….”

“And a legend was born,” Willow finished. “I still can’t decide whether I’m horrified or impressed by how well he rocks a floral mini-dress.”

Spike preened. Buffy covered her mouth with both hands.

“Anyway,” Willow said. “The other Spike turned up in Jasper just before I did. What with all the chaos of that rain of fishes—”

“Still? Seriously?” Buffy muttered, annoyed.

“The apocalypses were awfully biblical that decade,” Willow mused.

“Y’know there’s this whole thing ‘bout tornados and shallow water—”

Buffy and Willow glared him into silence in perfect unison, and Buffy relaxed at the familiarity of it. Even if her Willow and Spike would never have shared this with her, she could see them in the byplay.

“It was the damnedest thing,” Willow continued. “Like I was being blocked from changing anything, no matter what I tried.”

“The other yous all told me I wouldn’t be able to change anything directly. I guess that included hints.”

Willow’s brow furrowed. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t do more.”

Buffy looked across the room at Spike. “It’s okay.” She wondered how long it would take before just seeing him stopped feeling like a gift.

Spike leaned back casually against the wall and glanced over at Buffy. “He wanted you to know he never stopped lovin’ you.”

Willow’s jaw dropped. “You never told me that.”

“Never told anyone.”

“Not even the other me?”

Spike’s shoulders twitched. “She didn’ want to know which bits of her past were you.” His expression slipped into something like awe. “Appreciated what she had too much.”

It weighed on her, taking up the other Buffy’s mantle. How was she ever going to live up to this version of herself, who’d learned to love and be loved so well?

“You always said he disappeared again as soon as you were safe.” Willow seemed both surprised and hurt – she trusted this Spike enough to expect better.

“Bloody well did disappear!” Spike seemed only faintly contrite. “Showed up at our place a couple days after.” He rubbed at his jaw. “Wanted to knock some sense into me.”

“Did he go back to his own time after?”

“Dunno – got the vibe he didn’t have much to go back to. Never seen him since.”

“Well.” Willow gave Spike a long look, and he replied with a tiny shake of his head. She turned back towards Buffy with her best and brightest smile. “Right, um, so I’m gonna go catch up with the others for dinner. I was gonna—”

“Stay with Tara tonight,” Spike said firmly. “Weren’t you?”

“Yup.” Willow’s smile got wider and more fixed. “That was definitely the plan. That we made. All of us. And a good plan it is too.”

All of a sudden, Buffy was exhausted. Whatever adrenaline had kept her going through all the changes was deserting her. She half-wished she’d let nose-ring Willow talk her into that nap. “Bye, Wills,” she said warmly.

Willow came over to the loveseat for one last hug. “You’ve got my number. Call me tomorrow when you’re ready for company.”

“Wait!” Buffy had almost forgotten to ask.

Willow froze, her hand on the doorknob.

“Your spell to activate the potentials – did it make me immortal?”

Spike sucked in a breath.

“No,” Willow replied, hushed and grave. Then she looked at Spike with what Buffy only realised later was pure pity.

Buffy wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She’d always hated her immortality – hated the burden of surviving whatever killed the people she loved. But it had been part of her for such a long time now. She didn’t remember how to treat her life as precious.

“Were you?” Spike asked. “Before?”

“Does it matter?”

“Does to me.” He said it quietly, and without rancour.

And that was when Buffy got it. He’d been watching Anyanka with Giles and dreading having to go through that, then for a split second he’d dared to hope he wouldn’t have to. Their eyes met, and Buffy saw nothing but compassion there. She wondered if the other Spike had told this one about heaven.

That was when the worst horror of them all struck her. “Oh my god,” Buffy wailed. “I’ve got wrinkles now, don’t I? And … and probably grey hairs!”

Willow laughed, and some of Spike’s tension seemed to ease.

“I’m gonna go now,” Willow said. “You crazy kids have fun.” She kissed Spike’s cheek on her way out, like it was something she always did.

As the front door clicked shut, Buffy stared down at her wedding ring. “Do you even want to be married to me?”

“Was you made all this possible,” Spike indicated the flat and the two of them. “Bit weird right now, I grant you.” He laughed. “Was about to say we’ve been through worse, but….”

Buffy smiled ruefully, very aware he’d neatly avoided answering her question. “This isn’t the sort of thing we can fight our way through.” She paused. “How much fighting did we do? I – well, we – um, it got pretty violent sometimes.”

Spike stepped away from the door and came to sit down next to her on the loveseat. Again, he left a careful distance between them. But when Buffy reached for his hand, he took it, fingers interlacing. He sighed, relaxing enough so that their thighs were nearly touching where the sofa dipped them towards each other. “You need to stop chasin’ trouble.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” Buffy said. She could feel her face crumpling.

Very slowly, Spike reached out with his free hand and cupped her face. Even more slowly, he moved in to kiss her. It was soft – almost chaste. It was also wet because Buffy was crying again.

“You have always had faith in me, Buffy Anne Summers. Even when I had none in myself.”

“I still left you to die. Alone, in pain—”

“Loved. So loved.”

Buffy was in serious danger of verging into ugly crying.

“You chose me. Not that poor dead bastard from your own time, nor the one who spent twenty-two years mournin’ you.”

The battle with ugly crying was lost.

“You respected my boundaries when I asked and when I didn’t know I had to. Won’t lie an’ say this doesn’t scare me rigid. I loved my wife with everything I am. But you made her what she was, an’ I always knew you’d be back one day.”

“I chose love,” Buffy said. “Every time I went back, I chose love.”

He grinned. “We’re gonna do just fine.”

And they did.


End file.
